


Furry Little Liars

by TheRealNightTempest



Series: Furry Little Liars [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Stiles, Demons, Derek Has Issues, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Doula - Freeform, Dubious Consent, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hellhounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Mpreg, Mystery, OC Babcia Stilinski, Occult, Original Character(s), Pack Bonding, Pack Cuddles, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Portals, Pregnancy, Pregnant Stiles, Rebuilding the Hale House, Rituals, Spells & Enchantments, Teen Wolf, Trapping a demon, Violence, Werewolves, baby snatching demon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 78,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealNightTempest/pseuds/TheRealNightTempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinksi has waited for the moment that Derek would finally look at him the way he desires.  But leave it to Derek to screw it all up and change Stiles' life forever on a night neither of them will soon forget.  With a dangerous creature suddenly setting it's sights on Stiles, and something happening between Derek and Stiles that no one can explain, there isn't much time before the world they know will come crashing down around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We've Been Duped

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. Thanks for stopping by to read. Please note that this is my first fanfic ever, so be kind to me. Please! I beg you! lol Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. And as this is a series, there will definitely be more to come. Thanks so much. xxx

Stiles is an enigma to most people, especially to those closest to him. He’s a puzzle no one can solve, can’t explain, and most strangers are left scratching their heads or walking quickly away after a single encounter. But his friends and family in Beacon Hills, they let him be and love him for who he is, and they also have a rather strong Stiles tolerance, but that’s goes without saying.

For a long time Stiles and everyone around him mistook his rampant energy for ADD. He was unfocused, distracted, and more than a little rambunctious. He babbled, he still does, but no one ever thought he was anything except for smart. He could drone on about random facts, theories of life, and the meaning of the universe if you let him, and sometimes, he still does that. Actually, he does that a lot. 

What no one saw coming, what Stiles is still in awe of, is that he never had ADD. In fact, by taking medication for a condition he didn’t have, he put to sleep his true talent as a magical spark, a human with supernatural tendencies in his blood. It took two weeks of going off his meds, after forgetting them during a camping trip with the pack, to discover his abilities.

He lit a fire with his hands. He heard the trees whisper his name. He was able to pinpoint Derek’s location when he went on a run miles deep within the forest.

At that point he thought for sure someone had fed him wild mushrooms and he was tripping balls, but the others in attendance were just as amazed as he was. And their pupils weren’t blown. And they weren’t talking to little green men either. So… it was real.

The next night Stiles called a star from the sky to hover in his palm, when his phone died and he needed to find a spot to pee in the middle of the night. That was pretty fucking disturbing. And he almost burnt his skin, because stars are really hot and not meant to play flashlight for humans. But then again, he wasn’t a normal human, or so he’d discovered.

Later that week, he even cured Alison of poison ivy with a single touch. Okay, it was more like his hand glowed like he was turning into one of those old ass aliens from Cocoon and he made Allison scream in terror, but he got the job done because he cared enough to spur his magical mojo into action like some first aid kit from Hogwarts. And that would make him Harry Potter, and despite Harry’s incessant whiny tendencies and his lack of actually doing everything while his friends did most of the grunt work, Stiles still thought it’d be cool to be a wizard.

But he’d still rather be Hermoine. What that girl could do with a beastiary…

The pack, Derek especially, was in disbelief—a total ‘mind blown’ moment for all. Not that Hale ever said so; it was on his face though. Typical Derek. He wasn’t exactly a person who was forthcoming with the emotions, nevertheless Stiles did enough celebrating and display of excitement for them both. He was a magical prodigy! Well… that was kind of a stretch as he didn’t really know how to control his talent yet, but he knew he could get there, inside he just knew he was meant to do badass things.

Upon hearing the news, Stiles’ dad was dumbfounded, quiet, and not really with the program. It took him several weeks to come to terms with his son’s true calling. Not to say he was in any way discriminant against all things supernatural, because he was the sheriff of Beacon Hills for crying out loud, and he was conversant in things that went bump in the night, bloody messes, and a rag tag group of kids that couldn’t stay out of mischief. But up until now Stiles had been a normal teen, more like normal human that had a best friend who was a werewolf, often came home soaked in blood or with a curse set upon his head, and tended to have scary monsters that wanted him dead.

But this was different. This hit home. The sheriff just needed time. 

After that, he revealed to Stiles that Stiles’ great-grandmother from the old country had always claimed she had magical abilities, but everyone chalked it up to her being cracked, and well, the Stilinksi clan did have a thing for the crazies. The sheriff had whispered his apologies to his deceased grandmother, because the proof was sitting in front of him, stuffing his face with cheese puffs and skimming through a spell book Stiles had bought off of Amazon. One of many helpful references Stiles had amassed in his few short weeks of being under Dr. Deaton’s close watch, because the sheriff swore if Stiles burned another tree down in the backyard, there would be hell to pay.

Things slowly went back to normal, as normal as they could be. Beacon Hills was about as good a place as any for Stiles to practice his talents because of the safety the town offered in the paranormal department. Dr. Deaton took him on as an apprentice during college where Stiles stuck around town to get his bachelors in Mythology and Folklore, and after that, he went on to secure a seat in the American Herbalists Guild, which gave him magical contacts throughout America and all over the world.

He attended supernatural conventions. He learned the art of healing through herbs, potions, and casting spells of non-witch variety. He helped Dr. Deaton deliver a mermaid baby, which was by far the most disgusting and mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen. He freed a Djinn from her evil master and was granted the last of her wishes as a free woman, of which he refused because he was aware of wishes and their tricky wording, and the woman gave him of her own free will the wish of good luck instead.

But more than anything he became the biggest asset, next to Derek Hale, for his pack. And finally, they were getting the reputation the Hale pack of old used to have.

Stiles never thought he’d see the day where he truly felt accepted, loved, and useful to the people he cared about the most in the world.

He was up and coming in the supernatural community. People came to him for advice, for help in an emergency, and that in turn gave the Beacon Hills pack a lot of credibility. Eventually Stiles needed room to service his ever growing clientele and he took out a loan to open an occult shop downtown, a loan that was suspiciously approved to a student with debt up to his ears within twenty-four hours. But he stopped caring about whom, how, and why, and started believing that he’d earned that loan. 

Business thrived. 

Stiles kept learning, seeking, helping.

Stiles began to grow as a person and as an adult.

But what Stiles didn’t do was grow a love life out of thin air. He was too busy pining over someone he thought wanted him back. No, not Lydia Martin—he’d grown out of that long ago and they were now great friends, the best kind, actually. And sometimes he still dreamed of her hair, and yeah that was really strange, but hey, she had awesome hair.  
Nope, Stiles had his sights set on Derek Hale, the alpha of the pack. Stiles couldn’t have told you when he’d fallen head over heels for Derek, because it surprised Stiles when the realization hit him in the chest like a Mac truck.

He supposed it was the tension between them, the pull Stiles couldn’t deny but Derek always tried to. There were looks exchanged, sly glances from under thick lashes, heated glares that swept Stiles under the wave that was Derek Hale. There were touches, because yes wolves were tactile creatures, but Stiles reveled in Derek’s hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner, or the times when their fingers brushed and left tingles crawling up Stiles’ arm for days. They flirted, or so Stiles thought, when they argued, when they joked around, and everything in between.  
Derek was always near him. He hovered. He protected Stiles. Stiles loved how territorial Derek was with him. It made Stiles feel special in a way he’d always longed to be to the alpha of the pack, gave them an excuse to be closer, to bond.

Derek never dated, and Stiles was too uncomfortable to try, but in the back of Stiles’ mind, he didn’t want to date anyone except for Derek Hale. He was in love with the alpha, gushed about him in secret, and tried to find ways to be nearer the object of his affection. He figured, in time, Derek would come around, because the truth was, Stiles was scared to make the first move. He’d never made a move at all. On anyone.  
But maybe he should have tried to earlier, because one day, his fantasy came crashing down around him. If he’d tried harder before this, maybe it would have given him years to forget the alpha of his dreams.

 

***

 

“Don’t give me that look,” Stiles shouts over the music at Scott, who is lifting his brow. 

Stiles continues to snap his fingers, bob his head and shake his hips behind the counter, nearly colliding with the cash register, if not for what he considers to be a smooth turn in his freestyle choreography. “This is my jam, Scotty.”

“Dude, don’t call me that. And what is up with this crap music?”

Stiles feigns horror, a hand over his chest. His open mouth morphs into a wicked grin before he spins around and shakes his ass, simultaneously pumping up the volume on the stereo. “Don’t hate, Sourwolf Junior. Appreciate.”

“Sourwo—Stiles! Turn this off. Like, this is for tweens.”

“Get in touch with your inner tween then. I don’t care.” Stiles flashes his jazz hands just to piss Scott off. He’s thinking about jumping onto the counter to put on a real show, Celine Dion meets Miley Cyrus, because he hasn’t had much traffic through the shop all day and who cares anyway?—except Scott gives him this look, an ‘I’m about to shut this shit down’ look, and Stiles lowers his jazz hands. “What?”

Scott leans over the counter and turns the music down to a more manageable level. His nose twitches and his shoulders ease down as he sighs, like he’s about to tell Stiles he’s pregnant with a litter of pups, courtesy of the neighbor’s ferocious terrier. “Derek’s on his way here.”

“Okay? And…” Stiles’ heartbeat kicks into overdrive without permission, but he hopes the music will distract Scott from dwelling on it. He narrows his eyes, and without looking away, turns up the music again. “Good. Maybe he’ll actually buy something this time,” he teases, but there isn’t much that Scott can’t hear or see to know that his teasing is a cover up for something more.

It isn’t like Scott doesn’t know. He’s the best friend. He hears about it all the freaking time. Payback for Allison, Stiles thinks with a smirk.

“I just… I thought you should know,” Scott tries to placate his friend’s enamored heart by shouting over the music.

Exasperated, Scott plops down into a carved skeleton chair made out of some kind of iron. Stiles once told him it was a Fae throne that held dark magic, but not to worry, only the Fae could activate its powers, not a werewolf. So the risk of getting his limbs ripped off was slim to none. Just thinking about the chair had Scott contemplating his seating choice. He gets up to lean on the counter instead.

“Stiles,” he whines. “Please!”

“Oh, fine.” Stiles rolls his eyes like they’ll plop out of his head with enough effort. He turns off the radio and crosses his arms. “Thought you would be cool with me getting my freak on for a minute, seeing as how I have to listen to you coo at Allison all the time. Like, my god, dude, you called her boo boo and wiped her mouth for her at dinner on Monday. And yesterday, shall I remind you of the Pretty Little Liars marathon you two put me through? Five hours of you two squealing and pointing and gasping and cuddling. Bleh.”

“We have shared interests,” Scott defends.

“You two would share the same body if you could crawl inside her. I mean, I like Allison, I really do, but enough is enough.” Stiles shakes his head. He misses the loud music that was a buffer between his erratic excitement and Scott’s acute little wolfie senses. He wants a customer so he doesn’t have to think about Derek’s impending arrival, so he’ll look busy, on top of things, mature even when Hale glides through the door looking sleek and unruffled. He needs more food so his mouth is too occupied to say stupid things. He needs…

“You’ll understand when you meet the one.” Scott waves him off.

Stiles snorts. “What like the chosen one? Did you have to slay dragons and kill Allison’s evil fiancé to win her hand, all so you could finish each other’s sentences and watch preteen nighttime dramas? I’m not following, dude. Are you secretly Westley the werewolf and she’s your bow hunting Buttercup? Tell me, Scott, are the rodents of unusual size really real? Should I update the beastiary?”

“Fuck you, Stiles.” Scott’s mouth twists as he tries not to smile.

“Fuck you too, dude.” Stiles blows a kiss across the counter.

Stiles picks at a stray price sticker on the side of his cash register. He doesn’t want customers thinking the thing is for sale. Truthfully, he requires a distraction from the way Scott is fidgeting around the counter, especially after the mention of Derek. Scott’s alpha puts both of them on edge, for different reasons of course, but lately the moody wolf known as Derek Hale is testier than usual.

Stiles has a feeling Scott knows why. He also knows Scott isn’t telling him everything and wouldn’t you know, Stiles has already come to the conclusion that Derek is coming here to tell him what Scott’s hiding. It was another plan of theirs, the werewolves that is. They tend to formulate, meet in secret with the pack, and tell the blathering human when it becomes necessary to minimize said human’s risk of killing them all.  
Because, okay, yes Stiles has a tendency to get into trouble when he plays Nancy Drew Beast Detective for Hire behind their backs. And yeah, he doesn’t always do things by the book or consult Derek like he should, but this time the paranoia is eating Stiles alive. He can’t stand that they’re hiding something big from him, something really big from the way Scott, his best fucking friend, is acting.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore. I was trying to piss you off with the music because I know you’re hiding something from me. You said you came here to hang out, because I was bored and so were you, but so far all you’ve done is nitpick, which means you’re nervous about something. And now you say Derek is coming over, and that’s never good, because Derek freaking Hale hates the air I breathe lately and like, since I’ve known him—”

“Stiles, that’s not true.” Scott sighs. “You’re just worked up right now. I can feel it for crying out loud. Literally.”

“It is. It damn well is the truth. I’m like, the bane of his existence the last few weeks, and he gets this terribly pained look on his face like he has the worst kind of gas when he sees me, and he only speaks caveman in my presence. You know, grunts and huffs and points his stick—that sounded wrong, I didn’t mean it like that. But you know how I feel about him—”

Scott brings his hands up and then down as he exhales. “That’s it. Take a deep breath.”

Stiles nods and mimics Scott. After the tenth deep inhale, he starts to chill out, as chill as he can get. With the rise of Derek’s attitude as of late, Stiles has noticed his own increased anxiety. Maybe it’s something in the air, or maybe it’s a new brand of coffee at the shop he frequents across the street. Whatever the reason for his nerves on top of his naturally buzzing magical energy, he’s not coping well, and he’s probably driving Scott insane.

“I’m sorry, bud, I kind of wigged out.” Stiles offers Scott a smile, and Scott pats his hand.

“It’s alright, Stiles, just relax.”

“I’m right, aren’t I? Derek is coming over here to tell me what you’re not telling me. Is it Harpies again? Because you know I’ve got stuff in the back for that. I mean, I run an occult shop, so I’ve got the hookup if you guys need it. And you should really warn a guy if Harpies are running around. Seriously, Scott, do you not remember the last time? Because I will never forget that thing—”

“No, no harpies, dude. We’re just, uh, well…” Scott sniffs the air. He straightens and moves over a foot, because the front door chimes with Derek’s arrival.

Derek waltzes in all thick eyebrows, cut jaw, and lots of leather. He has a thing for leather jackets. Stiles is pretty sure he has a secret closet full of them at home, a shrine to dead cows, where he can curl up and fawn over his many preciouses and hiss and claw at anyone who comes near, and then ponder on the meaning of life, because Derek is like that, silently philosophical and absolutely irritating. And hot, he’s pretty hot too, Stiles thinks.

Just like that, Stiles becomes a drooling tween as the object of his many fapping sessions comes to stand at the counter. Derek and his weirdly colored eyes look Stiles over with no emotion. It’s like Stiles has to act human for both of them, and as a human, he’s the only one in the room who can’t plainly smell arousal unless it’s in the form of a crusty sock from when he was fifteen, but Derek can, and if Stiles is as turned on as he thinks he is…

“Crap,” Stiles mutters. He snatches up the Lysol from under the counter and spritzes the shit into the air until both werewolves are hacking up a lung and giving him the evil eye. “Sorry, I thought I smelled something rotten.”

“Maybe it was you,” Derek growls. His nostrils flare and his eyes flash red for a mere second.

“Har har, such a comedian, Hale.” Stiles can’t control his rapid heartbeat, can’t think as Derek looms over him again with something serious on the tip of his tongue. There’s no fighting the arousal wafting off of Stiles. Everyone has to smell it, and much to his shame there isn’t a thing anyone can do about it. Not even Lysol is the cure for everything. “So, looking for anything particular? I’ve got some luck candles in, unscented of course, and I’ve been told they’re great for setting the mood for a nice, relaxing bubble bath. Or over there, I have the July edition of Werewolves Monthly, hot off the presses—got a nice spread about that sexy alpha in Colorado, the one who saves orphan pups or something. He’s got a tight—”

“Stiles!” Derek bares his teeth; they’re a little too sharp for a mere human and Stiles isn’t in the mood for Derek to be wolfing out. Because like that’s going to help his rampant libido.

“What is it?” Stiles finally gives in. He hunkers down over the counter, thankful for the stool under his ass, and looks up at Derek. “Tell me the Titans haven’t finally decided to storm Beacon Hills.”

A flicker of sadness flits through Derek’s eyes, concerning Stiles, places him a state of silent panic because this is totally not about Titans or anything of the sort. But just as quick as Stiles can eat a cheeseburger the flicker is gone, and Derek appears just as emotionally constipated as before. “I thought I’d tell you face to face, so there would be no miscommunication on your part that you will be staying with Allison and Lydia for the weekend.”

Stiles leans in, squints up at Derek. He rests his chin in his hand and smiles. “Oh. Really? And you, oh Great Alpha of The Wild, are ordering me around because?”

Derek runs a finger under the collar of his t-shirt, the one under his leather jacket, the jacket he’s wearing in July. His cheeks flush, they should, it’s pretty hot in here and not because Stiles is damp in his pants but because it’s, uh, July! Derek’s eyes storm over, flickering between yellow and red. He’s either guilty or miserable. Stiles thinks both. “I’m taking the pack on a weekend getaway.”

Oh really? Stiles does his best attempt at a growl and fails miserably, managing to sound like he’s trying to clear his nostrils of snot.

Stiles shifts his gaze to Scott. Scott is also restlessly moving around at his alpha’s side. Stiles shoots his best friend an evil grin, accompanied by a cool stare. “Getaway? You said you were taking Allison camping this weekend and that’s why you couldn’t sleepover for the Firefly marathon.”

“I…” Scott sighs. He drops his stare to his shoes.

Stiles is just getting started. The paranoia makes him bitter. He’s been lied to by his best friend, a friend who obviously has his priorities wrong when it comes to hours of Joss Whedon at his best. Stiles is also being ordered around, left out really, by his supposed alpha that has no real claim on him. He pushes his finger against Derek’s hard chest. “And what the hell kind of getaway does a werewolf pack have without the entire pack? Are you renting rooms at the Holiday Inn and grabbing mimosas on the way to bonding time in the pool where you will practice fetching sticks in the water? Just didn’t want the annoying human to tag along and get in the way?”

“Stiles…” Derek growls at the finger poking him.

“No. Don’t you Stiles me. You lied to me.” Stiles switches targets, staring down Scott. “You’re a terrible liar. How could you? How did you even manage for so long? No, more importantly, how do you live with yourself? Liar.”

“He’s my alpha, Stiles.” Scott whimpers. He reaches out a hand towards his best bud, but it drops to his side out of fear when Stiles nearly crawls over the counter.

“And I’m your best friend. Brother from another mother, dude. That trumps wolf shit any day of the week.” Stiles feels like he’s melting from the inside out. His body temperature keeps rising. His heart is going at it like a drum circle full of hopped up hippies. He glares at Derek. “Why all the secrecy then? Why have my best friend lie to me and why come in here and go all like, diva Hale on my ass to make me feel like shit that I can’t come? And why oh why, do I have to spend my weekend with Allison and Lydia? Not that I don’t lurve them or anything, but seriously, have you ever had to spend a full forty eight hours alone with them? Not cool, man. Not cool at all.”

“We’re going to San Francisco as a pack so Derek can meet a potential mate,” Scott blurts.

“Scott!” Derek’s eyes flash red. He bares his teeth at his beta.

Stiles sucks in air and doesn’t feel it go down. He’s not sure how to breathe right now.

Stiles isn’t listening to whatever Derek is saying now, or screaming rather, at Scott. His ass somehow finds the stool again, and his heart seems to slow like the world around him. Derek Hale had entered Stiles’ life seven years ago. Stiles Stilinski had been a hormonal teenager, crushing hopelessly on Lydia Martin, but the minute Derek stepped on the scene to wrangle Scott into submission, Stiles had fallen in love. Unlike his crush on Lydia, which ended rather abruptly after that, Stiles didn’t just have a thing for Derek. Nope. He was irrevocably in love with the guy that treated him like shit.  
They teased, bantered back and forth in what some would call a twisted, toxic relationship, but to them, or so Stiles had imagined, it was flirting. Seven years of angst, of attraction, of slow bonding and then, when Stiles was near his wits end, Derek had pronounced him an honorary pack member. Stiles thought that had sealed the deal. He thought Derek didn’t do any dating around back then, or ever, because he fancied Stiles and just didn’t know how to say it, because Derek wasn’t really good with saying much at all.

But Stiles figured he’d wait. He presumed Derek would eventually come around for more than coffee or pack business, but now…now it seemed that Stiles had built a fantasy in his head; the kind with dragon slayers and evil fiancés and chosen ones.

But chosen he was not.

He wished the rodents were real. And that they would devour him now so his death would stop the pain.

“Stiles?” Derek blinks inches away from Stiles’ face. “Stiles, are you okay? Please say something.”

On autopilot, suddenly oblivious to Derek’s scent, a smell he loves so much, Stiles lifts the counter gate and walks to the front door. He turns the neon open sign off and shuts down the front lights until only the window display lights are on.

“Stiles?” Scott asks this time.

They came here as a united front, Scott as Derek’s back up, to let Stiles down the hard way. It had all been an elaborate mental fabrication on Stiles’ end, and to Derek, Stiles was the immature human with a crush the size of Texas. Probably thought Stiles had a journal with Hale scribbled over and over in it like some love-struck hornball. The worst of it was, and Stiles had been to rock bottom and back many a time to know what the worst was, is that they made him feel like nothing. Derek, his alpha, thought of him as nothing.

“All this time…” Stiles swallows thickly as he grabs his keys and bag from the hook next to the register. “I bet all this time it was some big joke to you, because you knew, you had to have known. I mean, everyone knew, including your pack. And that’s why you’re here, with my best friend, doing this whole whatever you’re doing, because you never had the balls to just say it to my face alone. Because I’m not your friend, or anything important enough to give a shit about.”

“Our pack,” Scott whispers. “It’s all of our pack, Stiles.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m not a wolf. I’m like your stupid mascot.”

“Stiles,” Derek says. One word holds so much pain, so much bogus fucking pain.

“Save it, Hale.” Stiles refuses to cry. He’s embarrassed. He is angry. He is also pretty numb, like he’s floating outside his body, looking down on his poor self and thinking this isn’t real. This just can’t be real. 

“You just thought you could hand me off to the girls and let them deal with what you can’t, while you run off and get mated to some wolf you don’t know. That’s fine. I get it. I just wish you were man enough to tell me yourself, instead of making me out to be a really big loser.” 

Stiles glances up at Derek. He gives him the blankest look he can, a rather cold stare he if did say so himself. “Because if you had just told me, just let me down in private and not made some big mission out it, involved everyone I called friend, I would have still been your bud. But this… This really fucking hurts and I can’t... I can’t do this anymore. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Derek whispers. He growls deep in his throat and chases Stiles out of the shop and into the small parking lot next door. “Stiles, wait!”

“No,” Stiles shouts. His hands shake as he tries to unlock his jeep. He drops them several times before he can get the door open. “I’ve waited like a dumbass for years, and all this time you knew. I thought we were a good thing. I thought… Just go away, Derek."

Derek grabs his arm. The heat of his touch nearly sears Stiles’ skin. “We need to talk.”

This time, Stiles has to fight really hard not to cry. He can’t show weakness. He will not go down like that. He yanks his arm free. “The first time you have something you really want to say to me and I couldn’t care less about listening. Life is funny like that, huh.”

“I… I know you’re embarrassed,” Derek whispers, his breath hot on Stiles’ neck. He’s standing so close, nearly covering Stiles’ back, and Stiles want to indulge in the last time he will ever let Derek Hale touch him, he does, but he refuses to be the butt of any more jokes this evening. Or ever. He’s an adult now. He thought he left his terrible self-esteem back in high school, and it’s crazy how it picks this moment to rear its ugly head again.

“No shit, wolf for brains. You probably like the way it smells on me.” Stiles sniffs and throws his jeep door open. “No, I’m just done.”

Stiles doesn’t care about locking up the shop. He knows Scott will do it on his way out, because Scott, for all his lies and backstabbing betrayals, is still a nice guy and a good friend. It’s Derek that Stiles wants to punch. It’s Derek who deserves all the miserable loneliness he has coming his way, mating some she-bitch wolf stranger from wherever. And in the end, it’s Stiles who gets the biggest reality check of his life. He’s spent seven years lying to himself, helping a bunch of werewolves who consider him their loser mascot, devoting his life to studying the strange and weird on their behalf, to save them all, only to still be nothing to them in the end.

Nothing to Derek. 

Amounting to nothing. 

Seven years wasted. 

A shit ton more to go.

“Please, let me explain.” Derek curls his fingers around Stiles’ hip. He rests his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. “Please.”

It’s a wet dream and a nightmare all rolled into one. And even as Derek embraces him, begs for some unknown reason, Stiles can’t but feel like the loneliest man in the world.

“Leave me alone.” He pushes Derek away and hears… He hears Derek whimper. The sound knifes Stiles in the heart, but he needs to get away. He needs for this to make sense. He can barely breathe.  
Stiles gets into his jeep and heads for Lydia’s without so much a glance in the rearview mirror, because if he knows her like he thinks he does, she didn’t go into this operation quietly. In fact, he’s pretty sure she would have wanted nothing to do with it from the beginning. Because unlike Derek Hale, Lydia Martin is a good person.

 

***

 

Lydia sits next to Stiles on her bed in the condo she shares with Allison. She hands him a glass of something deep red. “Chardonnay is all we have besides Scott’s beer he leaves over here. I figured you wouldn’t want—”

“Thank you. This is fine.” Stiles tips his glass back and chugs. He sees Lydia eyeballing him, but figures it’s a small price to pay to get a good buzz on her dime. That’s what friends are for. Cheap wine and strange looks.

She pats his knee. “Remind me to pick up another box at the store tonight. I’ll want some too.”

“Better make that two boxes then. So, how’d they rope you in?” Stiles asks dryly.

“I was fed the same information as you. Allison and Scott were going camping, but they said it was with the rest of the pack. You know how I feel about camping.” She smiles wryly. “And Derek told me you were staying with me because you felt uneasy with all of them gone, and that you didn’t want to have to close the shop because you had appointments. He added not to make a big deal about it because he didn’t want you to feel bad. I ate it up.”

“They sure covered their bases, didn’t they?” Stiles snuffles. 

“Stiles…” Lydia takes his hand. It’s platonic. They’re over that stage. They’re grownups now. “I know you don’t want to hear this, because you’re mad, and you have a right to be…”

“But?”

“What if Derek really does care about you?” She rests her head on his shoulder, strawberry locks pouring over Stiles’s side like a satin pillowcase against his skin. She squeezes his hand. “Actually, I know he does. I don’t think it was all in your head, honey.”

“Doesn’t matter what either of us feels for each other, especially his feelings, because he’s off to fetch himself a mate this very minute. That bitch,” he curses and narrows his eyes.

“Who is?” Allison appears in the doorway. She toes off her flats and pads into the room. “Who is getting a mate?”

“Like you don’t know—but nice try, Argent, daughter of someone who made a living off of lying and scheming, Little Miss I’m Going Camping with my liar boyfriend. You have that innocent, confused thing down to a science, Al.” Stiles raises his empty glass in salute.

“Stiles,” Allison huffs. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m tired. I have peanut butter in my hair due to a PB and J fight involving the entire third grade. My feet hurt, and all I want to do is chill with my boyfriend, but he’s off on some wolf retreat until next week. So if you don’t mind, could you just spill it already and stop being an ass?”

Stiles looks at Lydia. Lydia looks up at Allison. And then Allison puts her hands on her hips. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“We’ve all been duped.” Stiles sets his glass on Lydia’s nightstand a little harder than necessary.

“Betrayed,” Lydia hisses.

Allison blinks. “Okay, what did I miss?”

“On today’s episode of Beacon Hills, a pack of werewolves lie to three supposed members of their pack to bring their alpha to the mated motherland in secret.” Lydia goes to her desk and flips her laptop open with purpose.

“Derek is getting mated?” Allison shoots Stiles a horrified look. “But he… He can’t… What?”

“Exactly,” Stiles spits out. “I’m getting another glass of this before you finally explode. Lydia?”

“I’m good.”

“Scott lied to me?” Allison chases after Stiles. “He lied to me.”

“Welcome to club, girlfriend. We should get t-shirts.” Stiles opens the fridge to find his best friend waiting on the shelf in a white box. “Ah, good old Franzia. You’ll never lie to me, my sweet.”

“Derek is getting mated! Stiles, we…we can’t let this happen.”

“Bring some chairs back,” Lydia calls.

“Stiles!” Allison slaps his shoulder. 

“Allison!” he screams back. “Get some chairs, would you?” He takes his glass and the entire box back to the bedroom. His entire body is buzzing, and normally he would attribute it to magical overflow, but today he’s just sort of… mad. Mad at the world. Mad at himself. Mad at everything Hale.

Allison becomes his shadow, breathing angrily down his neck as she follows him back to the bedroom with two dining room chairs. She puts them down and sits, glaring at the laptop. She might even have Derek beat if there was a scowling competition. “Tell me you have a plan, Lydia, because if you don’t I’ll tell you mine. It involves hanging Scott upside down by his balls.”

Lydia cracks her fingers, her minty nail polish sparkling against the computer screen. “While I think that plan might be fun, if not a tad creepy, because I don’t fancy seeing Scott’s balls, I think I have an idea of where to find our little pack of furry liars.”

“Furry little liars.” Stiles chuckles. “That’d be a great show. You and Scott could really share in that,” he directs at Allison.

“Stiles…” Allison warns.

“Anyway, television puns aside… Stiles, did they tell you where they were headed?” Lydia signs into the OSN, the Online Supernatural Network, the magical google, and looks at Stiles.

“San Francisco. Where that bitch lives.”

Lydia grins. “Thank you very much.” She types a series of keywords into the advanced search page. Her face lights up. “I think I know exactly where they’re headed.”  
Allison and Stiles huddle in around the laptop. “The Muir Woods Pack. Derek made an alliance with them two years ago when they were in town.”

Stiles nods, his glass poised under his chin. “When we hosted the California Alpha’s Summit. I remember the alpha, he liked my shop, and he bought a shit ton of protective charm necklaces for his daughters. Garry, Garrett…”

“Gareth Clyde,” Lydia corrects. “Registered alpha of the Muir Woods Pack for twenty-seven years. Four daughters, three of them mated, and a younger son who attends Brown. Not a large pack, but a strong one according to the wolf head scale going on here.”

Stiles arches a brow. “They have a wolf head scale?”

“Instead of stars, I guess?” Lydia snags Stiles’ glass and sips. “The one daughter, Beth, is on the OSN app MateFinder, and if I was a betting lady, I’d say that is who our pack is going to see.”

“Well?” Allison raises hopeful brows.

“Stiles?” Lydia smirks.

Stiles takes his glass back. He downs the remaining wine and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “When do we leave?”

 

***

 

Derek feels as though his heart is being ripped out of his chest the further they travel away from Beacon Hills. He squirms in his seat, his wolf right there at the surface, screaming at him to turn around. He can barely keep his composure and his tension overflows into the SUV, making everyone anxious.

“Maybe we should like, I dunno, go back?” Scott looks over at Derek from the driver’s seat.

“We’re hours out, Scott,” Derek snaps.

“And the further we go, the longer the trip back will be.” Scott bares his teeth with a nervous smile.

“I’m fine,” Derek growls.

“No, you’re not. I told you this was a terrible idea,” Erica complains. “We should have told him the truth. Now he thinks…”

Derek grips his knees. His eyes screwed shut and his body prickling in all the wrong places, it’s all he can do not to scream. “Let him think it then. It’s not my fault—”

“It kind of is, bro,” Boyd interjects. “We get you’re trying to protect Stiles from all of this.”

“And Allison, who might I add I had to lie to, and I’ll probably have to grovel for the rest of my life to make up for it,” Scott tacks on.

Boyd pats Scott on the shoulder. “But he could have really helped us out here. The alpha even asked about him when we called to make arrangements. He loved Stiles at the summit, bro.”

“It wasn’t safe to bring him. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with when we get there.” Derek crosses his arms over chest and narrows his eyes at the windshield.

“And the fact that we’re going to help out at a giant unmated wolves gathering has nothing to do with it?” Erica laughs. “Didn’t want Stiles getting rubbed on or what?”

“Erica,” Derek growls and flashes red eyes at her over his shoulder. “Watch it. You know why we’re going.”

“Some unknown creature has been sending creepy stalker gifts to the alpha’s unmated daughter. Got that. But seriously, Derek, you might have shut Stiles down for good. Who knows how he’s going to deal with this. And you left him with Allison, who definitely knows by now that Scott lied to her, and Lydia ‘I bite back’ Martin. All I’m saying is you better watch your back.”

“And stop… stop breaking my best friend’s heart,” Scott murmurs. “He can’t take that.”

As much as Derek wants to punch Scott in the face, Scott is also right, and Derek is ashamed of what he’s done. “I just thought it would be safer. You know how he gets when there’s a mystery afoot. I just… I had a bad feeling about him coming with us.”

“Next time be honest with him. He only gets in trouble because we don’t tell him everything and he gets curious. He’s not an idiot, Derek.” Scott softens the blow with a boyish expression.

“If he ever talks to me again. He said he wasn’t pack.” Derek looks at his lap. His heart flip flops, not in a good way either. He knows he’s screwed up. He knows he has to make this better, but he can’t at the moment, and he’ll have to wait until after the gathering to talk with Stiles. The gathering that he would rather be tortured to death at then let Stiles attend for many, many reasons.

“Why would he think he wasn’t pack?” Isaac finally pipes up from the very back. “He’s our family.”

All scowls fall on Derek. Derek sinks in his seat. He has to listen to Scott angrily rapping his fingers on the wheel all the way to Muir Woods.

 

***

 

Stiles isn’t one to welcome hunters with open arms, but Allison’s dad, Chris, isn’t one of them anymore. Well, he isn’t working with the Hunter Network that is, and now spends his days contracting jobs out for feral werewolves, something no pack wants running around free. So when Allison tells him of her latest crisis, pulling the loving daughter in need card, Chris obliges three pissed off pack mates for his personal entertainment. Because if there is one thing he likes more than pleasing his baby girl, it’s to make Derek Hale squirm.

The Argent’s private plane lands right outside San Francisco hours before Derek and his band of liars are due to arrive. Gives them plenty of time to give Gareth Clyde a call and charm their way onto the guest list. And that leaves the three of them with free time to enjoy the choice shopping amenities the city has to offer. And enjoy they do with the help of Chris’s shiny little credit card.

Stiles shoves his bags in the trunk of their rental car. He slides his new aviators over his eyes and gets in the driver’s seat. “I feel like a spy. Not like James Bond spy, but like what a male model at a spy shoot is supposed to look like. I know I’m not gorgeous,” he laughs nervously, “obviously, but look at me. What am I doing to myself? This isn’t real. I just spent, well Chris just spent… Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what an obscenely expensive pair of blue jeans costs. I feel like. Crap. I just feel…” What he feels like is a traitor to himself, like some GQ asshole he swore he would never be. What he feels like is a Derek impersonator in a leather jacket and shades. It doesn’t feel right, but his betrayed heart says Derek is getting what’s coming to him. And that is what he listens to, because so far the voice of reason has gotten him nowhere with Hale.

“You should feel like a registered pack member going to an unmated pack gathering. These packs will be dressing to impress, so the fact that you’re wearing poured on jeans and leather is a good thing, Stiles,” Lydia states matter-of-factly. She presses her new designer dress out with her hands and flashes him a megawatt smile. “Derek Hale is gonna die at the sight of you. And I will deny this with my last breath if you repeat it, but you look edible, Stilinski.”

Stiles bites his lip and blushes down at his lap as he turns the keys in the ignition. The jeans… The jeans do feel nice. And his new boots are… They’re pretty cozy. Guess this is what people meant by you get what you pay for.

“After Derek drops dead, Scott might just die too. I haven’t decided.” Allison folds up her crossbow and stashes it in the pull down console in the backseat to make room for her purchases. “There might be room mercy, but he’ll have to beg for it. Maybe I’ll have him polish my new Jimmy Choos with his tongue…”

“Okay…” Lydia lifts her brows at Stiles before she settles in her seat. “Moving on to a less kinky topic of conversation, how about we gear up this GPS and head out.”

“Coffee first.” Stiles pulls away from the curb. “And then we go visit our friends over at the state park for a friendly celebration.”

“I like the way you think, Mr. Stilinski.” She slips on her new shades, so they do indeed look like hit men on their way to a job.

Stiles stops at the first Starbucks drive thru he finds. He and coffee never really seem to work well together with his hyperactivity, but in this case, he needs all the energy he can get. It’s going to a long weekend.

 

***

 

Muir Woods is a national park, and therefore the rangers that greet them at the entrance are anything but human. The pack wolves surround the car. They ask for identification. They ask Scott’s passengers to get out for a pat down. They check the car, inform them all that the park is closed to the public this weekend for their safety, and then send them on their way.  
It’s all very formal until they journey into the park. The woods are majestic with Redwood trees that almost touch the sky, some as old as the earth herself. With the windows rolled down, the scent of the outdoors welcomes them. Wildlife scampers here and there, enticing the wolves in the SUV to run and play.

“This place is huge,” Scott comments. “Like, way bigger than Beacon Hills.”

“It’s a national park. What did you expect?” Derek’s brows furrow. “And you haven’t even seen the village yet. It’s an eyesore, at least what I remember from when I was younger that is.”

“Oh a village sounds cute.” Erica leans out the window. “Tiny houses in the woods. That rustic charm...”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Rustic my ass.”

“Derek, can you at least act like you’re enjoying this trip? May I remind you that any and all consequences you receive when we go back are all of your own doing and that none of us deserve your attitude this weekend? Okay. Thanks, Der.” Erica waggles her middle finger at him.

Derek snarls. “I’m your alpha, remember?”

“Then act like it for once.” Erica grins tightly with her teeth clamped together.

Boyd puts her hand back into her lap and smiles. “She’s just excited.”

Derek snarls at Boyd. “And she’s a—”

“Oh wow!” Scott makes a turn. “We’re almost there! Look.” He points. “There’s the sign and there’s… What is that?”

“See?” Derek sits up straight. “An eyesore I tell you. You’d think we stepped into Real Housewives of Muir Woods.”

“I’ll say.” Scott takes the hill down slowly to where a paved street cuts through a strange neighborhood of small white mansions. 

There are picket fences and landscaped yards, street lamps and hanging baskets overflowing with flowers not local to the park. There are mailboxes and addresses printed neatly along the curb.

There’s no denying they’re in the park—the trees, the birds, the earthy scent—but the flashy cars and million dollar homes stick out like a sore thumb. A few traffic guides wave them on with orange sticks to an empty field at the end of the street, where they park and get out like they’re going to cross the street to attend a rock concert or something.

“Alpha Hale,” comes a jovial greeting. “So good of you to make it.”

A four-seat ATV slows down next to Derek. Hale first notices Alpha Clyde in the driver’s seat. The man is in his mid-fifties but still handsome with salt and pepper hair and dark brown eyes. He takes up most of the bench seat in front with his muscular frame, leaving barely any room for…

Derek’s eyes roll into his head behind his sunglasses. He inhales hard enough to give him a nose bleed, but the smell sucked into his body is worth the pain. It’s sweet like spun sugar, yet clean like spring mountain air, and smells a bit like the woods surrounding them.

“Stiles,” Derek croaks.

Stiles lifts a mixed drink, lounging in his seat with his feet crossed at the ankle on the hood. He flicks his sunglasses down an inch and grins. “Hey there, Der Bear. How was your trip up?”

“These three made great time.” Alpha Clyde nods and claps Stiles on the back. “Then again, us wolves like to make a fashionable entrance, am I right?”

Erica’s jaw drops, much like Derek’s stomach. She puts a hand over mouth when Lydia and Allison turn from the back seat to wave at them. It’s not a friendly wave, more like a deadly, plotting gesture, and Derek forces a smile. “That’s right.”

“Well, my boys will load your gear up and take you to your rooms. When you’re all cleaned up and ready, make the drive over to the meet and greet for drinks and appetizers. Dinner’s at eight.” Clyde revs the vehicle’s engine and throws up his hand. “See you all there.”

The small vehicle loops around the parking area and speeds off down the street. Facing the opposite direction of Alpha Clyde, Lydia and Allison hold up their middle fingers in unison. Derek takes a step back.

“What the fuck just happened?” He whirls around to his pack. “I mean it. What. Just. Happened?

“Stiles happened,” Erica offers. “And did he say appetizers like we’re at some soiree in the middle of the Stepford Woods? And was Stiles holding a drink with an umbrella in it? And did you see what Stiles was wearing? Good god he looked…” She trails off as Derek crowds her into the side of the SUV.

“You had it coming.” Isaac pats Derek’s shoulder in sympathy.

“I’m dead.” Scott trots by with his bag, head hanging in misery. “I’m so dead.”

Boyd hoists his piece of luggage out of the trunk. “This is gonna be mad funny,” he says as he walks by. “And I may be in your pack, but consider me Switzerland this weekend, bro.”

“Boyd,” Derek demands, but Boyd ignores him. “Scott,” he tries instead, putting a little authority behind it.

Scott shrinks away under his alpha’s scrutiny. “No way,” he screeches. “Allison is here. She’s got weapons on her. I know she does.” Scott shivers. “I like my balls where they are thanks.”

“Isaac? Come on.” Derek touches his chest with both hands, resolving to try a different, more approachable tactic. “Please. For me?”

Isaac’s eyes offer Derek a deadpan stare. He adjusts his backpack onto his shoulder and slowly shakes his head. “If you think I’m getting mixed up in your love life again, you are sorely mistaken, alpha.”

“Oh fuck this. Erica. Erica, I know we've had our ups and down, but—”

“Save it for Stiles.” She shoves his bag at him and walks off to the waiting ATVs.

Derek ends up chauffeured on another ATV, minus his pack and plus Erica’s bag that weighs more than any bag should. The local and visiting wolfs and humans wave at him like he’s some kind of celebrity. He’s not. He’s famous because his old pack perished in a fire a long time ago, not because he’s a great alpha, or because does charity work, or for anything but death and misery.

Misery has become his life. It finds him. He finds it. He creates it. And he lives in it. But the one bright spot in his life, the one person who never cared about his rough exterior and introverted tendencies is Stiles. Stiles, yeah, the guy he just banged over the head with the betrayal stick; the guy who came here to teach him a lesson; the guy who will probably never talk to him again, unless it’s to comment on how terrible Derek has become.

Stiles was always safe to be around. He’s inquisitive like a child, he’s kind, he’s smarter than anyone Derek knows, and he’s beautiful. The best part of Stiles’ beauty is that he has no idea how handsome he is, how many stares he get when they walk down the street, how many people have approached him from afar only to be glared away by Derek.

He has no idea that every time Derek is near, Derek subtly touches Stiles, tiny gestures that mark Stiles with his scent. Stiles is clueless to the nights the sheriff used to let Derek sit at the edge of Stiles’ bed when he slept. Or the nights after, when Stiles got his own house, Derek would use his key copy to check on Stiles at night.

Derek is addicted to Stiles’ voice, to his laugh, to the sparkle he gets in his animated eyes when he’s excited. He loves how Stiles falls over himself at the drop of a hat, and how he brushes it off like no big deal.  
Derek loves that Stiles is a nerd, that he’s awkward and obnoxious and can list every horror movie by director and alphabetically. He’s mesmerized by the way Stiles picks out the peanuts from his pad thai but will happily eat the peanut sauce on his noodles.

Stiles is an enigma to most, but to Derek, he makes complete sense.

Derek is the one who doesn’t deserve someone like Stiles. He’s a commitmentphobe. He’s a bad alpha. Most of the time, he stays quiet because he can’t form complete sentences in Stiles’ presence. He’s bad at showing his feelings, even worse at spelling them out. He gets so overwhelmed by his want for Stiles that he doesn’t even know where to begin half the time.

He wants to kiss him, maul him, and put a cork in his mouth all at the same time. He wants to sleep next to him. Wants to wake up next to him. Wants Stiles to feel like an amazing person all of the freaking time, but how can he make Stiles happy when he isn’t happy himself. He has nothing to offer Stiles, really. No extended family to welcome Stiles. No way of leaving Beacon Hills so Stiles can thrive in the magical community, because he’s such a talented practitioner he should be working somewhere exotic and exciting.

Derek can’t get over his past. He can’t get over Stiles either.

What he does know is that he’s hurt the one person who saw him through the hard times. The person who made him want to be an alpha, a better man, and actually look forward to getting up in the morning. And because he couldn’t just talk to Stiles about this mission in the first place, he’d cut Stiles down and also ruined his chances at finally telling Stiles how he felt. What Stiles truly is to Derek.

Derek ends up moping around his three room cabin for a few hours before he’s able to shower and dress for the meet and greet. He stood in front of the mirror for longer than necessary because he wasn’t sure if he’s under dressed or overdressed for his role tonight. That and he wants to make sure he looks alright for… for Stiles.

Because Stiles had looked…Stiles had looked like someone who would definitely get asked to go somewhere private at tonight’s event. He’d seemed more grownup, suave, put together. And Derek suddenly missed Stiles’ worn down sneakers, his holey jeans and his comic book t-shirts. All in all, he missed Stiles a lot, and wasn’t it funny, he was just a few doors down but it felt as if they were continents apart.

 

***

 

Stiles had a hard time taking Beth’s hand and smiling at her. She was pretty. Okay, no, she was drop dead gorgeous. Totally what Derek’s type would be if he had one. Long flowing black hair and glittering brown eyes, high cheek bones and pouty lips glazed with a rosy shade of gloss. She was also single and looking, and this event was designed around her in way; putting her and Derek together under the disguise of a giant singles weekend to make things less awkward. But the thing about Beth Clyde was that Stiles couldn’t hate her. He felt her sincerity when she greeted him, excited to meet the great Stiles Stilinski, magical practitioner, and friend of her father.

She wanted to know all about Beacon Hills and the small town they came from. She talked magic shop with him like a professional, not exaggerating what she knew and understood, and was eager to learn anything Stiles was willing to tell her. And she was modest too, not the type of were-gal that flaunted her assets, instead hid them under a perfectly tailored blue sundress that met her father’s approval.

Stiles could be friends with her given time, like she was one of the gang. Beth was just that kind of person, warm and open and receptive, unlike other people in attendance. Stiles shot eye daggers at Derek as he entered the covered tent and veered around the fancy set tables to meet up with his pack.

“Oh thank the stars he showed. I was getting worried.” Beth looks across the dance floor and holds up a hand to Derek.

Hale darts a glance between Stiles and Beth. He begrudgingly waves back. Then he sits down, back to them, and huddles in with the pack. Stiles huffs and loops his arm around Beth’s, tossing taunting looks over his shoulder at the pack, mainly Derek, and at any wolf that caught his eye. He wanted Hale to be jealous, and judging by the look Derek managed to send his way, he might have done just that. Who knew, Derek was hard to read. “So, have you and Derek set a date yet?”

Beth looks at him funny. She checks around them for listening ears before she leans in. “A date for what?”

“The mating,” Stiles says flatly.

His heart thunders to life. He wants to be hit by a bus to put him out of his misery, but it’s because he is still in love with Derek that he brings himself to ask questions to feed his nightmare. Beth, apparently hired to condone his self-loathing, barks a laugh. “You think that Hale and I are getting mated?” she whispers.

“Aren’t you?” Stiles looks up slowly.

“Heavens no.” She bites her bottom lip, scans the room, and then leads Stiles outside via a flap in the tent. “I’m so sorry you came here under false pretenses. I thought your pack told you.”

“They don’t really tell me much. I’m more of a mascot than anything.” Stiles fiddles with his Rolex, courtesy of Chris Argent. Allison is going to have a hell of a time explaining the charges, but seeing Derek’s shock was so worth every penny.

Beth puts a finger under his chin and lifts his face to see her gentle expression. “Oh Stiles, you are so much more than a mascot. Do you know of how many wolves here tonight knew who you were? How eager they were to see you and get your advice? You’re a certified practitioner with countless solved paranormal cases, and you’ve been nominated as your pack’s future emissary. I don’t think it will be long before Derek hands you the title. He said as much at the summit to my father, who also holds you in high regard.”

“Your dad?” Stiles takes a deep breath.

“He gushed about you. He was thrilled you called and came this weekend. Actually,” she turns them away to head for a private tent away from passerby traffic, “my father made Derek promise to make you emissary or he would offer the title to you himself, for this pack of course. And we all know that Derek would never give you up, because he’s a good alpha and knows talent when he sees it.”

“Thanks, I think. But…what does that have to do with the pack coming to this gathering? I was told…”  
Beth puts a finger to her lips. She searches the tent for a noise Stiles can’t hear. A smile spreads over her lips. “Just a squirrel. Sorry. So this is between us, what I’m about to tell you, because I’m thinking,” she rolls her eyes, “that Derek didn’t involve you for safety reasons and maybe because... Well, never mind. Let’s just say it would be more dangerous to leave you unprepared in case something happened.”

Stiles groans. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

“Okay, okay, it started a few months back. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend, who is not a suspect in this because we split on good terms.” She wags her finger at the spark of interest in Stiles’ super sleuthing eyes. “He, uh, he happens to like men better.”

“Oh. Right.” Stiles reddens.

“Exactly, so some friends and family headed out to Colorado to visit some relatives, and I went with because, duh, distraction needed from being single.”

“I get that. I really get that.” Stiles nods.

Beth grins. “It wasn’t even a few hours after I was back home, on pack property, that I got the first phone call.”

“Like someone whispered, “Seven days” kind of phone call? Or a telemarketer that can’t take no for an answer kind of phone call?”

“Someone breathing into the phone for a really long time kind of phone call?” She bites her lip.

“Well that’s scary. Don’t you have caller ID?”

“Restricted number. My dad put some tech guys on it and they can’t even get a ping off of where the caller might be located.”

Stiles rubs his chin in thought. “And you think Derek is a tech genius who can find the caller’s location?”

“No, no, no—I doubt he’d even know where to start. Sorry.” She cringes. “No offense to your alpha, he’s a good guy and all—”

“Oh save it, he’s stuck up and I’m not talking to him. I just want gossip—hard, cold leverage against him when he’s being an ass. Not to say I’d mess up your investigation here, I really want to help, I just want to know why Derek Hale, my Derek Hale is posing as your would be true love at a gathering like this?”

“Your Derek Hale?” Beth clasps his hands in hers and squeals. “That’s so cute. I had no idea. You’re very territorial over him for a human. I honestly had no idea, but wow, that’s amazing and I’m very happy for the both of you.”

Someone pushes through the private tent. Lydia marches over and stands on one side of Stiles, and Allison comes to rest at his other. They put their hands on their hips and Lydia pushes up her sunglasses. “We got a problem here, Beth?”

“Yeah,” Allison adds, itching for a fight. “Heard you were putting hands on my boy’s man.”

Stiles can feel his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. He’s mortified until Beth starts laughing. “You have such great friends. I can only wish for that. Ladies, I’m sorry you’ve been misinformed, as has Stiles, but I’m here to set the record straight. The real problem here is I have a violent stalker, and Derek as an ally to our pack, promised he would pose as my would-be suitor to lure the stalker out.”

“No shit?” Lydia scoffs. “They lied to us about that?”

“I’m still gonna kill Scott,” Allison mutters under her breath.

Beth puts her hands up. “Well, we’re hoping no one gets hurts this weekend. That’s why we opened the gathering to several other packs, strength in numbers and all that. But Derek was the only unmated alpha we had allied with our pack, and since this ceremony is supposed to be about me finding a strong alpha mate to carry on the bloodline, and helping others mingle and find potential mates as is tradition…”

“He’s not really here to mate you,” Stiles finally says. He let go of the breath he’d been holding in a rush. “He just didn’t know what the real threat was, who he was going after to help you, so he made the three of stay home to protect us.”

“That would be my guess.” Beth nods. “Albeit I would have gone about it much differently, but mated males, especially alphas, do stupid things to protect those they love.”

“He’s so stupid. He made me say it first because he was too scared to.” Stiles narrows his eyes. He blinks. Did she just say mated? No. He must have imagined it. Yeah, he totally imagined that.

“He made you say what?” Beth lifts a brow.

That I love him, in not so many words. “You know what, Beth? That’s not important. What’s crucial here is that you have a talented practitioner in your midst, which is more than willing to help you find said stalker. You can just call me Stiles Tracy.”

“Huh?” Allison eyes him.

“Like Dick Tracy, private eye?” Stiles lifts his hands. “Huh? No one?”

“No.” Lydia pushes his hands down. “Just… no.”

“Whatever. You two are no fun unless you’ve got a box of Franzia under your belt.” Stiles steps away from his posse. “So breathy phone calls, huh? Did they ever say anything?”

“Mine. Several times they ended the call by saying, “Mine.””

“So it’s a wolf then.” Stiles paces. “Wolves are known to use such ‘endearments’ when they claim a mate, or in your case, a victim.”

Beth sighs. “It’s a possibility, but we couldn’t get anything off the letters or packages sent to the house. By the time they reached us, there were too many scents to get a read. No fingerprints or DNA either, other than the mailman, and he’s been questioned. Besides, he’s almost eighty and has been our carrier since before I was born. I’m surprised he hasn’t retired by now.”

“A wolf with intentions of mating you would have marked his scent all over anything he gave to you. He’d want his scent on you as much as possible, even if it was only your hands when you opened the mail.” Stiles sits down on a patio ottoman. His girls sit opposite him on a plush bench. He’s starting to feel like the head of a mob family; Stiles Stilinski, the emissary godfather. “What kind of things did your stalker say in these letters? What was in the packages?”

Beth leans against a small bar and shivers as she wraps her arms around herself. “Explicit things I’m not going to repeat, because... If you want to read the letters, ask my father. With the packages, he included small notes and racy lingerie or jewelry. It was all designer, all expensive, and we’ve already tried to track those purchases, being exclusive items to flagship boutiques we’ve frequented in the past, but they were all purchased with cash.”

Stiles chased Beth’s shying gaze. “He knows you then, like personally knows who you are. He’s familiar with your taste in fashion, the jewelry and uh, unmentionables, and I’m assuming the letters he sent you scare you more because they were familiar rather than explicit.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Forgive him. He watches too much CSI.”

“But he knew things. Things I’m not…not comfortable talking about.” Beth blushes. She’s so delicate Stiles can hardly stand it. Definitely not Derek’s type then, but she would surely land herself a burly alpha to keep her warm at night.

Stiles stands and comforts Beth with a shoulder to cry on. “It’s okay, Beth, I’m on the case now. We’ll find your mystery creep and bury him six feet under.”

Beth wraps her tall frame around Stiles until his face is trapped within her thankfully covered bosom. “Oh Stiles, thank you so much. I can’t believe Derek didn’t trust his entire pack to help. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Am I?” Derek’s growl echoes through the tent.

Stiles extricates himself from Beth to see Derek standing there stiff as a board. His nostrils flare as he huffs hot air, the thing of which he’s filled with, not a heart or anything, and then he steps forward. Lydia and Allison, aka the female mafia are there to stop him.

“Stiles,” he growls.

“When you can use more than one syllable at a time, preferably full sentences to explain why you’re such a dick, then I’ll listen.” Stiles puts his arm around Beth and guides her around the angry alpha. “Until then, leave me the fuck alone. I’m working here.”

“You’re not getting involved in this.” Derek grips Stiles’ arm and jerks him back into the tent. “Lydia, Allison, out.”

“We don’t take orders from you. We used to until we were rendered too useless to be a part of pack missions, but now that we’ve seen the light, no thanks, Hale.” Lydia flips her luscious hair over her shoulder. 

“We’ll just form our own pack, separate from the He-Man Human Haters Club.”

“Nice one, Martin.” Stiles winks.

“I still got it. I always got it. Hear me, Hale. Now shoo.”

“This isn’t happening,” Derek says. “I didn’t mean you weren’t pack! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“That’s the only thing you’ll be getting in your mouth,” Stiles tries a witty comeback and fails. His face flushes bright red. “I mean…”

“He means you aren’t getting what he’s got anytime soon, Hale.” Allison stabs Derek with a finger in his arm. “And you can tell Scott I’ll take an order of his dick in a box before this weekend is up.”

“You’re all crazy.” Derek growls through his teeth and throws his hands up. “I didn’t want Stiles here because…because he’s as territorial as I am. Seeing me all over Beth, even playing a part, would hurt him. He’d do something reckless because he’d be jealous. Shit…I didn’t mean it like that either.”

“Reckless?” Crestfallen, Stiles flinches away from Derek. “You think I’m reckless?”

“Stiles,” Derek whispers. “You know I didn’t…”

“You did.” Stiles nods. His anger surges to the forefront. He’s always been helpless to the things that fly out of his mouth and today is no exception. “You know, I can’t think of one nice thing you’ve ever said about me. You smile along, if that wolfie toothy thing you do is even remotely a smile, you tease, you yell at me, you attend family functions, were there at both my graduations, but you’ve never… You’ve just never been… Maybe you were playing a part with me too, being nice to me because after I found out about the spark, you knew you had to keep me within the pack to help you, because no one else would ever come near you and that heart of ice you have.”

Beth’s eyes widen. “You know what, I’m gonna go find my dad and mingle a bit. Come get me when…”

“I’ll come with you, Beth,” Stiles says. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say except have fun this weekend, Derek. I hope you find someone good enough for you, someone not as reckless and obnoxious as I am. Someone you don’t have to leave behind unprotected because you’re trying to protect them. Someone you don’t have to pretend with because they’re not as fragile as I am. Just… I hope you find that, because as of right now, I’m going to start looking for someone who gives a shit about me.”

“Everyone else out,” Derek commands, panic creeping into his voice. “Stiles, don’t you move a muscle.”

“No, I’m done with you, Hale. All you ever do is let me down and make me wait. I never really thought about it until now, because I was so wrapped up in waiting for the moment you would choose me that I didn’t realize I wasting my life; wasting my breath on someone who thought so little of me. It’s time I started being a real man and going after what’s right for me. And sadly, that isn’t you.”

“Whoa,” Lydia breathes.

“Ditto,” Allison echoes her awe.

Derek doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t blink. He trembles instead, barely concealed anguish rippling through his perfect body. But Stiles can’t bring himself to comfort Derek this time. He wants to so badly, but if he does, he lets Derek walk all over him again. 

Nothing good will come of it.

So Stiles grows up a little bit more, takes another step into manhood, and leaves his crumbling heart behind in that stupid tent as he walks away with Beth on his arm. Fuck this hurts. It hurts so bad.


	2. Another Edge to the Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stiles." Derek shakes him. "Did you hear what I said?"
> 
> "You're a gorgeous angel. Has anyone ever told you that before?"
> 
> Angel Derek has the same furrow to his brow as Alpha Derek does. His breath even smells the same, like cinnamon gum and bad coffee. "Stiles, I think you're in shock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! 
> 
> Wow, I'm seriously blown away by all of your kind words and anticipation. You guys are pretty great. I'm posting this chapter pretty quickly after the first one, but I'm sorry to say I had the time this week and don't usually find myself with a lot of extra hours to spare. So it might be a bit between chapters from here on out. 
> 
> But enough from me. I hope you like this chapter, which contains lots of fluffy, seductive apologies from a certain douche canoe of an Alpha, who needs to get his business together and fast. And there might be see through pants. Just sayin'.
> 
> P.S. If you are easily offended, please ignore the nacho cheese Jesus. K? Great. ;)

Derek gasps for air, unsure how far he's run, yet he knows it wasn't enough.  His hand slides down the uneven texture of the closest tree.  His knees find the soft earth as he collapses and his hands dig deep into the dirt.  

The air is pure and filled with rich scents, foreign smells and some familiar.  All of it should bring him joy, the trees and the never ending acreage he has to move, to be himself without worrying about the public eye.  Yet it doesn't feel right.  He feels distanced from home, from all he knows, from his pack, from his heart, and it hurts.  

It hurts _everywhere_.

A bandage won't fix the pain because it isn't a wound.  There's an imaginary hole in his chest, one he created, one he doesn't know how to fix but somehow he knows he can.  He just... He's scared to fix it.  Terrified to fill it with something that won't last because past experience tells him love only ends in heartbreak and regret.  Love is for people who deserve it, not those who are a letdown to just about everyone they know.

He's aware of what his pack thinks of him now.  The weakness he showed not hours ago.  How he couldn't hold command over them because he was a coward and they sensed it.

He's supposed to be the alpha, the leader, the one they turn to in times of trouble and out of respect and admiration.  But who is the alpha supposed to turn to when they're in trouble?  Who could Derek possibly talk to about the man he loves, the man he treasures yet keeps just out of reach because Stiles is better than Derek could ever be.    Stiles deserves more.  He should want more than the depressing alpha who can't get over his personal issues with trust and commitment.  Who lives in the woods in a shambles of a house like a spooky hermit.  Who can't speak without sneering or glaring because it has become a basic defensive skill against people he doesn't want too close.

He should just let Stiles...

Derek puts his forehead to the ground.  His face scrunches and his mouth twists, a howl of agony at the tip of his tongue at the thought of giving Stiles up, the possibility of his happiness just slipping away for good.  It's more than Derek can bear, but the time has come to make a decision.  Leave Stiles alone... or take what is rightfully his.  What he knows Stiles would freely give him if Derek could only makes things right between them.

His nostrils flare as he catches an aroma he's accustomed to, one that carries the scent of ruddy clay and pine.  Soon the natural fragrance envelopes him and a hand lands between Derek's rigid shoulders.  He looks up into Scott's dark eyes, his beta wearing an expression of deep concern.  "I felt your... grief.  I told the others to stay behind."

Derek keeps his mouth shut but nods .  He hangs his head as Scott rubs his shoulder, layering his scent upon Derek's.  It's a pack thing, a gesture of comfort, and right now Derek needs as much of it as he can get.  This is who he turns to, is supposed to rely on to keep his chin up in times of unforeseen turbulence.  His pack.  His.. family.

"I fucked up."  Derek swallows.  Not one to admit his failures to his pack, he still trusts Scott with what emotions he does show.  Still, the truth is a hard pill for him to swallow.

"I'm sorry, Derek, but yeah you did.  You're my alpha, you know.  And I get that you need to be the... the dominant, silent type to show strength, but that's not why I chose to join this pack."  Scott sits among the dirt and leaves.  He keeps his fingers on Derek to keep their connection strong.

"Then why did you?  If you don't think I'm good enough to be your-"

"I joined you because Stiles thinks you're good enough.  Because he's my best friend and I trust him.  And it took some time for us to come around to each other, you and me, but I see what he sees now and I wouldn't step out on you because you are the only alpha I could ever picture in my life.  You're a good man, Derek, but sometimes you make awful choices."

Derek's pride is jilted.  Scott has faith in him, trusts him without a doubt, yet here they are and Derek doesn't know where to go now.  He can only say, "I'm sorry for what I asked you to do.  It wasn't right."

Scott gives him a lopsided smile and pats Derek on the back.  "Apology accepted.  But dude, why did I have to lie?  Why the big deal about this trip?"

"You don't understand, Scott."

"Then help me understand.  I'm your second.  I think... I think I have a right to know."

Derek grumbles under his breath.  He sits back on his heels, kneeling on the ground, and grips his knees.  "It wasn't about the stalker.  Had it been that, I would have invited Stiles along, because truth is he would probably be more help than us.  And he would have been protected the entire time."  A fierce possessiveness rips through Derek's eyes.  "You know he would be safe at all times."

Scott bites his lip like he's going to laugh, but rubs his lips together and nods.  "Yeah.  I know.  So what's the real problem?"

"The events this weekend aren't exactly... This is not your normal singles mixer."  Derek's heart thrums in his chest just thinking about what would happen tonight.  If Stiles was talking to him, if they were getting along, and the party tonight was something he could look forward to with his mate at his side... Derek's cheeks flush and he wills his sex drive to park it in the garage.

Scott leans back, eyes wide.  His nose twitches but he doesn't comment on Derek's lust swimming through air, seeking a willing Stiles-like victim.

"It's a very tribal event. Older than most living pacts. Appeals to a wolf's baser instincts when they search for their mate."

Scott shakes his head.  "Not following, dude.  Never been to one of these before." He shrugs.

"Neither has Stiles and I was trying to keep it that way."

"Okay...  You're going to have to-"

"It's a blue moon dance.  An old ceremony that encourages wolves to mate under the full moon, a fertility blessing some call it."

Scott's mouth opens and then closes.  "So it's like..."

"A big orgy, yes."  Derek turns away so he doesn't scare his beta with the murderous look he can feel start to cross his features.  "Only wolves not tethered to their already chosen mate will feel the call.  The others are there to watch over us, to make sure nothing bad happens.  And I'm just the bait to make our stalker jealous."

"Forget the stalker shit.  Bad like how?"  Scott leans into Derek's space.  "How, Derek?  How bad?"

"Some wolves have been known to mistake another's intentions and act before they realize what they're doing."

Scott's eyes flash yellow.  "Act _how_?"  His voice drops a few octaves.  "Do you mean _rape_?"

"I mean Stiles is a submissive virgin with appealing magical qualities and that almost every unmated male will want of piece of what's mine, no matter if he's a guy or not.  Gender doesn't matter when you're in full on heat."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"  Scott is on his feet in a flash.  "We have to get him out of here.  What the hell were you thinking, Hale?"

Derek pushes Scott into the tree and a few branches thud to the ground.  He digs his claws into Scott's shoulders, his breath hot against Scott's face.  "I was the one who tried to protect him in the first place," Derek roars.  "Don't you ever talk to me about my mate's protection like that.  His safety is my _first_ priority!"

Scott bears his neck to his alpha.  His entire body shudders under Derek's.  He takes a few shaky breaths.  "Your mate?  He's for real... your mate?"

Derek punches his fist into the tree, leaving gashes and blood on his knuckles as he pulls his hand away from the indentation he leaves behind.  "How could he be anything but mine?"

"You never told us." Scott lowers his face.  "You should have told _him_ , Derek."

"And what?  Bind him to me when he was still young and had choices, choices better than I could ever dream to be?"  Derek shakes his head.  "He deserves better than this."

"Derek..."

"No!"  Derek takes a step away and gives Scott his back.  "Gather the others and tell them Stiles' safety is more important than the reason we're here.  I'll tell Gareth to watch his own damn daughter because I'm not taking chances.  Stiles will be attending the event because he's Stiles.  There's nothing I can do to stop him because he's stubborn and he's mad at me and he should be, but I want every member of this pack watching him.  If anyone approaches him for more than a drink order or friendly conversation, you take them down.  Do you understand me, McCall?"

"And what the hell are you going to be doing?"

Derek glares over his shoulder, eyes red as blood.  "I'll be trying not to lose my shit when they light that fire."

 

***

 

Stiles holds up a pair of briefs that are supposed to resemble swimming attire.  They're midnight blue with silver piping around the crotch and a set of laces that hold his man goodies in place.  Horrified at the thought, Stiles flings them onto the bed.  "Are you crazy?  I am not wearing that in public."

Lydia giggles.  She pats her sarong into place on her hips and adjust the ties of her bikini top around her neck.  "Stiles, seriously, loosen up a bit.  I promise you he will be kissing your feet if you walk down to the beach in that."

"The point of this trip was not to be molested, it was to get an apology and the credit I deserve.  But after today, I don't think I want any of that.  Especially if I have to dress like the alpha's boy candy to get it."  Stiles scours his bags in hopes that Allison took pity on him and purchased some actual swim trunks.  He reaches the bottom of his designer duds and comes back empty handed.  "You do realize we're in the woods, not Ibiza.  Right, _Lydia_?"

She groans and throws him a pair of white linen drawstring pants.  "Will you just put the swimsuit on and cover your virgin maidenhood with these?  No one was asking you to undo the laces for anyone tonight, alright?  It's the entrance that counts. And those are Dolce and Gabbana by the way, just so you know you got swag."  She waggles her brows.

Stiles is far from amused.  "I hate you right now."  He snatches the garments up and stomps into the bathroom.  He leaves the door open a bit as he gets dressed, squishing his ass into the ridiculously tight briefs and hisses as he almost hears his balls scream in protest.  "I might suffocate Little Stiles and become a eunuch if I have to wear these all night," he yells.

"Don't worry," she calls back.  "Maybe before the night is through Little Stiles can come out to play with Big Derek."

"Ahh," Stiles screams through his teeth and slams the door in Lydia's face.  "You were supposed to be on my side.  We're mad at him."

"No, you're sexually frustrated and he's being an asshole.   _Hello_ , been dating Jackson Whittemore for how long?  I'm practically a guru on the subject."  She taps on the bathroom door.  "Stiles, will you please let me in.  I know you're nervous about tonight, and I'm just trying to lighten the mood.  I didn't mean that you had to put out to get results, because you're not that kind of guy and that's why we love you."

Stiles checks his appearance in the mirror behind the door.  He's not sure what's to love about him.  His hair has grown out some and he kind of likes it, but it never cooperates.  Instead it sticks out every which way except for the way he wants and it only gets worse when he tries to put product in it.  Tonight he would have to deal with his disheveled mess of a mop, because there wasn't any way around it.  Not even magic would snap his locks into submission.  And yes, he'd tried.

"Stiles?"

He shakes his head at his flat, pale stomach and the faint traces of abs he tried so hard to work on these days.  With his chaotic life and lacrosse a sweet high school memory of the past, he never got around to doing a thousand sit ups a day and the lifting weights program he promised he would do, one drunken night, to the roided out guy with long braided hair, the spokesperson for Thats Hot Fitness Now on TV at three in the morning.  Stiles even tried protein drinks, but that also required him to exercise, plus they tasted like the grainy gunk he frequently cleaned out of the air vents mixed with dehydrated astronaut shit.  He'd take his chances with Coco Puffs and be grateful most of his murder mystery adventures with the pack left him running for his life, and that had to be a good enough sacrifice to the calorie gods, right?

Probably not, and that's why he was the baby faced human with no sex life, and why he was now in this ridiculous getup that Lydia thought was a wolf attractant for alphas, who preferred their companions to look like cheap porn stars.  And that's why Derek was being such a dick and why Stiles felt lost and out of his element.  And that's why...

"Lydia," his voice trembles.  "I'm one gold chain and a sandy beach away from being in a Boys II Men video."

The doorknob turns and Lydia appears.  She pushes her way inside and hugs him close.  "You don't have to go out there tonight.  We can stay here and channel surf and leave in the morning if you want.  Don't do anything you're not comfortable doing, Stiles.  Do you understand?  We would never force you into anything."

"I'm scared," he admits.

"Of what?  Derek?"  She gives him a good squeeze.  "The only thing you're scared of is the truth.  He hurt you and you're angry, but you know there's a reason behind it.  Derek is one giant mystery, Stiles.  Luckily for you, I'm pretty sure you're the only one he'll reveal his secrets to.  You're the key to his magic box."

"I'm pretty sure he's the key and I'm the box, because alphas most definitely top and why the hell am I saying this to you.  Ugh.  Oh my god, Lydia.  Why do you keep saying that?  What about me screams sexy alpha bait?  It's... It's not even about sex, although I've thought about it like many, many times.  Shit, Lydia.  I think about him all the time and to find out that he wasn't thinking about me for years, that I'm just so naive and blind and I didn't see how much he did not, in fact, want me around at all-"

"Stiles!"  Lydia grabs both sides of his face.  "Stop.  Honey, you need to get a grip."

"No, a grip is what these stupid hooker briefs have on my balls.  What I need is a why.  Why am I not good enough, because I swear to god, Lyds, I swear he wanted me back.  I know I'm not the best catch and I talk a lot and sometimes people fear my evil genius, but I know it was there.  He just... He just looks at me sometimes like I'm supposed to be scared of him but it's not like that, like he wants me to see the real him underneath all that leather and creepy alpha brow, like he wants me back.  I'm so fucked!"  Stiles turns away from her to breathe.  "I am so utterly fucked, Lydia."

Allison pushes the door open and yanks Scott into the picture by his ear.  She scowls at her boyfriend.  "I don't think that's the case, is it, _Scott_.  You had something to say to Stiles?"

Scott's eyes Stiles up and down.  He chokes out a laugh.  "Dude, tell me you are not wearing that tonight.  Derek will-OW!"  He rubs his side where Allison elbowed him.

"Don't make me repeat myself, McCall.  Tell him.  Now."  Allison yanks on Scott's ear until his neck is stretched in an uncomfortable position.  

"Dude, I'm so sorry for lying.  He gave me a direct order and I couldn't go against him, but I swear I know why now and it had nothing to do with him rejecting you and those... those pants.  Dude, seriously, you should like cover up a little more."  Scott squints.  "Are you wearing a speedo? You look like your part of a beach harem."

"What?  No!"  Stiles' hands come to rest of his crotch.  "Stop looking at my junk."

"I'm sorry your pants are see through?  And if I can see them then others can and..."  Scott's eyes glow yellow.  "You should _really_ put on some other pants."

"Okay what is with the pants?"  Lydia throws her hands up, almost hitting Stiles in the face.  "Does no one appreciate the finer things in life or is that just me?"

"They're too revealing," Scott growls.

"Kind of the point here.  Operation Make Alpha Hale Jealous in action right now."  Lydia's eyes widen and she purses her lips.  "And since when have you been so protective of our delicate flower here's maiden voyage?"

Scott's chest practically vibrates.  He sniffs the air and eyes the windows outside.  "He needs other pants.  Now."

"Dude, you're scaring me."  Stiles backs into the shower curtain and jumps as the plastic glides over his bare back.

"At least put on a shirt that covers your... your stuff."  Scott yanks out of Allison's grip, suddenly in beta mode.  His wolfish features cut his face into a real life Halloween mask.

"Okay."  Lydia touches Stiles' arm.  "We'll see what we can do."

"Good."  Scott shakes his head.  When he looks up he's all human again, or at least his face is.  "Derek wants you to meet him at the mouth of the beach trail in a few minutes.  And before you freak out I promise you'll want to hear what he has to say.  No he didn't command me to tell you that either, I'm just looking out for your best interest as you friend and because he wants you to go of your own free will."  Scott pouts at Stiles.  "We're still friends, right?"

Stiles heaves a sigh and nods.  He pushes through his personal bodyguard and opens his arms.  Scott fits right against him as they hug it out.  "Of course you are.  Just don't lie to me again.  That's not you."

"I know.  I'm sorry again, dude.  Sorry really doesn't even cover it."  Scott flashes Allison an uneasy smile from over Stiles' shoulder.

"You're not off the hook yet, so don't give me that face."  She saunters around her boyfriend with a little hip action to piss him off and grabs her bag.  "Scott, Lydia, we're leaving."

"Sure."  Scott claps Stiles on the back.  His smile is bright and boyish as he leans in.  "Good luck, man."

Lydia stomps her foot to keep from being half dragged out the door.  She dances away from Allison's grabby hands.  "You can't let him walk over there by himself to meet... _him_.  Are you out of your mind?  Look at the poor thing, he's terrified."

Stiles bristles at the observation.  He drops his hands away from his see through linen pants.  His brows greet each other like a maniacal handshake.  "I'm not scared."

Lydia frowns.  "Yeah you are."

Internally, he is quite possibly the most frightened he has ever been in a non life or death situation.  That said, he is still a man with a point to prove, and see through pants or not, he will go see Derek.  And he will say what he needs to say or apparently hear the greatest explanation known to mankind... and werewolves.  If there is one thing Stiles Stilinski is good at it, it's surviving.  No matter what Derek says, the excuses he makes and the denial he so blatantly likes to push in Stiles' face, he will not be moved.  From here on out, it's his way, not Derek's way.

Stiles nods at himself.  "I am my own man."

Scott smirks.  "Good for you, buddy.  Have a little epiphany on us there?"

"See?  Case in point, Stiles is talking to himself again and he only does that when he's truly unaware of how nervous he is.  We cannot let him get screwed, figuratively or literally."  Lydia taps her foot.  "Don't make me be the abstinence police here."

Allison shoves Lydia out the door much to her shrilly defense.  "He's a big boy, Lydia.  You got this, Stiles?"

Stiles nods.  His confidence, once everyone sees past it, is much like his pants - ridiculous and costed a lot more to come up with than it's worth.  "Sure," he finally pipes up.  "See ya there."

Scott waves and shuts the slider door, leaving Stiles with his thoughts, and that's never a good thing.  He's going to confront Derek, by appointment, in private.  And he's still wearing these awful pants and he has nothing else to wear to a party that involves water and a beach theme.  Derek will never let him hear the end of it.  "Your pants are... nice," Stiles mimics Derek's low voice.  "All the more fitting to be wearing stupid pants while I rip your stupid heart out because I'm a heartless bastard, therefore we don't mesh.  You understand, right?"

Stiles scrubs his hair with hands and slumps onto the bed to get it together.  "Why me, gods of the universe?  Why?"

In the middle of his breakdown, he feels a spark of warmth in his belly.  It flows throughout his legs, his arms, and melts in his throat like the best kind of cough drop for a terrible cold.  Stiles recognizes his magic as it comes to him, comforts him like a puppy who knows when their master is sick, curls inside him and strokes his heart until he can breathe again.  "Yeah, I'm being dumb.  I know.  I can't help it," he says to his stomach.  "At least you love me, right?" His skin tingles and he smiles.  "Good to know."  

He gets up from the bed with renewed purpose, if not still a little on edge, and forgoes a shirt because of the heat.  He enters the warm night air and feels the prickle of magic all around him.  Only natural when at least a hundred werewolves are scampering about the woods on their way to the beach.  A breeze ruffles the legs of his pants, soothing his skin in a strange way.  He grins.  What was doing something stupid without at least one benefit.  Like going to see Derek, although unnerving and maddening, Stiles gets to enjoy the walk through the tall Redwood trees at night. They are thick and old and beautiful.  Stiles touches their trunks as he passes each one, skimming his long fingers against their rough bark to hear them gently sigh.

While werewolves were connected to the moon alone, Stiles was connected to everything.  The earth was made of many, intricate nerve endings that sent signals wherever Stiles went.  He wasn't like a Disney Princess, he didn't talk to animals unless shifters counted in human form, but he felt them.  When they were sad or angry or happy and calm.  He was drawn to them as much as he was plants, sensing their uses, their dangers, their natural magic as they were rooted to the ground.

And sometimes, if he focused enough, he could hear voices carry on the wind like messages from the sky herself.  It was as close as he would ever come to being a wolf, and maybe what Stiles could do was even better.  He was a living, breathing, hippie to the core.  A hippie who liked first person shooter games, Batman because he was broody and had a badass costume, pizza folded in half and dripping with cheese, lavender because it reminded him of his mom and herbal tea with lots of sugar.  He had no category to fit in.  He had no place that he could not wander.  But he was tied to one thing that kept him from spinning like the moon around the earth.

Derek Hale was his moon, dancing around Stiles, a complicated mess of a planet, faster than he could keep up with.  He counted on Derek to bring night to the sky and watch over him as he slept.  With the moon came Derek's howl, his magnificent black coat of fur and his burnished amber eyes.  And with Derek it was never easy, but it was worth it.  Always worth the fight to see the next night wash over the day.

Until now.

Stiles stares into the dark woods for his eyes to adjust.  He doesn't like being out here all alone while he is slowly slipping into a depression that nearly stops his feet from moving.  Maybe Lydia was been right. Maybe he...

 _Snap_.

Stiles whirls around to search the trees.  "Derek?"

His heart pounds a mile a minute.  He knows he's being stupid because it's a forest and forests make noises, but his hands find a nearby tree at his back and he waits.

 _Crunch_.

This time it comes from the opposite direction, pretty close by.  Stiles' body reacts by hunching into a defensive crouch.  He's been hanging out with too many werewolves, but hey, it fee;s right.  And as if that isn't enough to make him feel better, a ball of light rolls out of skin and into his palm.  He holds it up to the dark.  The glow expands into a ring of light to illuminate the night.  "Who's out there?  Derek, this isn't funny."

The growl that answers isn't Derek.  Stiles has heard Derek's bark and he's felt his bite, but this... this isn't Derek at all.

Stiles screws his eyes shut and chants, "Come on.  Come on dammit."

A flow of energy rips up his arms, tenses in his shoulders, and then rushes back into his hands.  A faint curtain of protection surrounds him as he tears off into the trees and follows the path the best he can.  His lungs burn and his thighs are starting to cramp.  He'll run until he can't run any longer, because whatever is chasing him isn't just one. A wave of creatures stampede through the woods after him, wild and feral, evil enough that his protective bubble ripples with worry.

Stiles sees the tiki torches guiding the way to the beach up ahead of him.  He bends his arms at the elbow, pumping his muscles harder and faster.  He chances a look behind him, something he'd normally never do because that was what always killed the cheerleader at the beginning of the movie and he spies at least a dozen red eyes following him.  "Shit!"

Up ahead, Derek turns to him.  His posture stiffens and his eyes go red.  He runs to Stiles, meeting him halfway to the path before he grabs Stiles around the middle and throws his body behind him.  Derek bares his teeth and roars at... nothing.  Whatever had chased him, Stiles notices in his state of duress, is gone.

Stiles falls to his knees, gasping for air. He clings to the back of Derek's legs, fingers bunching the fabric of his pants in his hands.  Closing his eyes, he fee;s Derek shift around and crouch in front of him.  "Stiles, breathe.  It's okay now.  There's nothing there.  It was probably just Boyd or Isaac, I told them to..."  Derek's hands are all over him, checking for wounds or bite marks.  He puts his nose against Stile's shoulder and sniffs deeply, inhales his scent all the way to his neck and up to his ear.  Finally Derek clutches Stiles to him.  "Your heart is racing.  Stiles, you need to calm down before you pass out.  I promise you nothing is out there.  I would know if it was."

Stiles pants.  "Yeah... Yeah there was. Eyes.  They had... red eyes."  He swallows oxygen into his lungs like it's going to out of style and accepts Derek's strong arms around him, leaning into his warm body, lulled by his intoxicating smell.  "They were there," he whispers.

Derek rumbles his disbelief, but says nothing, which means he knows  Stiles believes in whatever he'd seen.

"They smelled like smoke."

Derek pulls back and looks around for a second.  He rubs his lips together, his brows pulling down at the corners of his eyes.  "Torches.  The smaller bonfires they've already lit down the way.  Take your pick.  It'd be pretty hard not to smell the smoke around here."

Stiles scowls.  He realizes what Derek is doing, luring him in with warm skin and eyes that cast the belief that Stiles is a petulant child.  "Whatever. I know what I saw.  I know what I heard, and I'm pretty damn sure I've got the werewolf profiling on lock.  So you can give me that stupid look all you want.  I can't believe I came all the way here by myself to see you, at your request no less.  And for what?  This?  No thanks."

Derek's eyes flashed.  "You came here by yourself?  Boyd and Isaac we're-"

"Nope.  Didn't see them.  And yeah, that's what Scott said you wanted.  So here I am. Surprise!"  Stiles rolls his eyes and pushes to his feet.  He starts dusting his pants off while mentally listing ways to torture Scott.  "I wore the pants and everything.  Stupid, stupid, stupid, Stiles!"

When Stiles looks up at Derek, because he is being way too quiet, like not even breathing quiet, Stiles finds Derek staring at the see through pants.  Derek's tongue wets his lips.  His chest rises and falls like it's a burden rather than a natural process.  His hungry eyes skim the length of Stiles' legs, his torso and then zeroes in on Stiles' shocked stare.  "You are not wearing those."

"Is this the part where you tell me to take them off?  Because I'll tell you what, Mr. Bastard Wolf, and yeah, I called you that.  You've been downgraded from sour to just plain rotten."  Stiles harrumphs and closes his eyes momentarily.  They snap open to find Derek still staring at his pants.  "I'm not taking off my pants for you!"

Two weres chuckle as they trail off down the beach.  Stiles turns ten shades of red.  He covers his face with his hands.  "Stiles, look at me."

"No.  Don't wanna find you still staring at my crotch."

Hands peel his fingers away from his eyes.  "Stiles, we need to talk.  About why you can't wear those pants.  Or that... that thing," Derek inhales sharply, "underneath."

Stiles pales.  "I am not going down there naked, Derek. You can pull alpha rank all you want to, but that is and will always be my worst fucking nightmare.  Have you ever seen me naked?  It's like... It's not pretty."

Derek swallows thickly.  "I'm sure that's...that's not true."

In all of his wildest fantasies, Stiles had never imagined Derek complimenting his naked body.  There had been multiple dreams about Derek bending him over the kitchen table and... Then the ones where Derek pinned his wrists above his head and plowed into... Stiles hums his distress and takes a step back.  Or there was the one he recalled Derek finding him in the woods after he was running from a monster and they did it on the...  However, in all of his dreams, Derek never said a word.  A therapist would probably attribute this to their real life lack of communication, but Stiles called it Derek being hotter than he was nice.

"Stiles," Derek croaks.  "I need to tell you something."

"Oh god." Stiles fans himself with his hand and spins in a slow circle.  He paces in front of Derek.  "Just say it and get it over with.  I'd really like an excuse to go back to my cabin and book my flight home right now.  Just out with it so I can be done.  All I do is keep embarrassing myself rather than stick up for myself and it's getting old, you know?  I'm getting old just standing here.  Seven years, Derek.  That's a long damn time and I can feel the arthritis taking my knees prisoner already.  Next time I blink I'll be forty-five and alone, still watching that douche from Channel 3 with the rock hard abs at four in the morning because I won't have a life and I'll never be happy.  And I'll never do a thousand sit ups.  Is that like even possible to achieve before you actually throw your guts up?  Of course it's possible, look at your fucking stomach.  It's perfect.  You could wash laundry on it, like an entire army's worth of laundry and it'd still be like stone.  You should have been a gargoyle, not a wolf, because then you'd really match your cold, stony interior and this wouldn't be so hard.  Because you're warm and soft in certain places and your fur is like silk and I imagine your hair is the same way and I would not be sitting here babbling my fucking face off if you were a gargoyle..."

Stiles sucks in a harsh load of air.  His face is on fire and hands are touching his body and they're not his hands.  And oh my god, Derek is hugging him again.  He's like really hugging him with hands and arms and his chin is touching Stiles' neck.  He's scenting his neck, actually, breathing him in like he's trying to choose a candle for his sexy bedroom lair while he's out at the mall and there are so many scents that only one is not enough.  Dooming himself to being a forever doormat, Stiles gives in and puts his arms around Derek's neck and just holds him close, because he wants to be as close as possible.  He silently apologizes to Scott for all the jokes he made about Allison, about wanting to share a body, because that's exactly what he wants to do with Derek, crawl inside him and take a nice long nap.  Hibernate like a bear in the winter and wake up to a sexy feast of Derek's ripped as fuck body.  But it's more than that, Stiles wants to make him smile and know why Derek is sad all the time.  What he can do to make all the pain go away, because under that gloom and doom, that post apocalyptic storm in Derek's eyes there has to be a good person.  An alpha who saves people, who shelters his young, inexperienced pack mates and helps them survive.

Like Stiles, Derek really does think about everyone but himself.  He's been hurt, bruised, abused, walked on, thrown, tortured, abandoned.  He's lost his heart in a fire, struggles to make his pack work, pushed aside his differences with Scott to  give his beta a place to call home.  He's a loner because he thinks he has to be.  Because so many people have tried to use him for nefarious purposes and that's just not right.  He's never had a shoulder to cry on since his family was lost.  He's never had someone to run to with his problems, even if he was the sensitive sort and wrote deep, meaningful poetry in his spare time, he still should have someone to rely on for more than backup.

Derek's fingers tighten around Stiles.  His face is hidden in Stiles's neck.  "You're doing it again."

"What?"  Stiles breathes.

"Talking out loud."

Stiles homes in on the heartbeat punching back at his own, at the broad chest plastered to his and the way the muscles contract and expand almost painfully tight.   Derek is the nervous one tonight. Not Stiles.  Stiles is just... Stiles, and Derek had something to tell him before he opened his mouth subconsciously and spewed fluffy Derek vomit over said beautiful man with a vice like hug that feels so good Stiles never wants to leave.  It's only natural to stay, he thinks, questioning what he was ever mad about in the first place.  It's okay to just stay and cuddle.  They don't have to go anywhere, see anyone, or let anyone see the stupid pants.  They can just stay like this forever.

"You're too good for me," Derek murmurs and the words taste like wine as Stiles swallows them down.  "You have no idea what I would give to take it all back."

"Take what back?"  Stiles steels himself for further hurt and heartache, but Derek has just said... That Stiles is better.  That Stiles doesn't... No way.  "Wait, did you just..."

Derek leans back, eyes glassy but not crying, and takes Stiles' hands in his.  "Stiles, I am sorry for hurting you."

"Derek, I..."

"For once, will you listen to what I have to say?"  Derek stares at their hands.  He's gearing up for something important, a speech perhaps, and whoa this hand holding after hugging is super intimate and foreign and Stiles has to breathe it out so he doesn't throw up as Derek apologizes.  Apologizes!  To him.  Holy freaking Batman, Stiles eyes widen but he nods.  Derek shyly looks up from under his lashes and drops his gaze again.

"If I have to listen to you, you have to look at me.  Fair is fair."  Stiles studies Derek for what he is, and warmly smiles because although he was mad and had a right to be, Derek is soft around the edges right now, vulnerable like Stiles usually is, and its nice to see another edge to the sharp blade that is Derek Hale. Something shiny and bright, tucked away where no one else can see beneath his sheath of anger.  But he chooses to show Stiles.  Chooses to be sincere and honest and open in a way that makes Stiles fall harder than before.

The silence isn't as tense as it usually is.  In fact, its comfortable as they study each other like they're strangers that know each other's every tick.  Stiles searches Derek's eyes, is entranced by the way the flames of the torches play off the golden flecks in his irises and meld into the lighter greens and yellows.  This close, he wonders what Derek sees in him, imagines its nothing close to the way Stiles sees Derek.  Because he's human with a few nature made parlor tricks and a brain like a mad scientist, but he isn't beautiful like Derek.  Beautiful on the inside, or so he's been told, but standing next to Derek he is nothing more than...

"You have to stop doing that or I'll never get this out."  Derek shivers.  "You have no idea you're even doing it.  You couldn't lie if your life depended on it and that's why I know you think my lying to you was such a deep betrayal.  You have to know, Stiles, that I wouldn't lie to you if it wasn't important to me."

Stiles cocks a brow.  "To you?"

"Because you're important to me, and if I have to lie to protect you then it's warranted, but I fucked this up.  I should have been honest from the get go."  Derek inhales and lets it out in a wash of heat that spreads over Stiles' chest.  Goosebumps peak over his skin and Derek watches them rise with a... satisfied look.  Stiles fidgets under Derek's studious eyes.  He has no idea what to do with all of this niceness.  Derek is being nice and protective and attractive and he's holding his hands and he's apologizing.  Did the universe suddenly enter another dimension?  He thinks about looking around for creeping Time Lords, but Derek is looking him in the eye again, looking, _really_ looking at him.  

The corners of Stiles' mouth tick up in a demented smile.  "Whatever you say."

Derek's soft smile falls.  His fingers loosen around Stiles' and he sniffs to the side.  "So this is a whatever to you?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that." Stiles clasps their hands together again without thinking.  "I meant, fuck, Derek... I don't know what you're trying to tell me.  I don't know why you're being so nice to me.  If you just want to be friends and tell me to go eat grass with the other human cows who think you're hot then that's cool.  I just want you to say it to my face, and yeah, I know my unrequited feelings for you are not your fault but your my friend and I would like to think you'd bow out gracefully rather than crush me under your boots, you know what I sayin'?"

"Cows?  Stiles," Derek's sighs his name, exasperated but grinning.  "You're not a cow.  And I'm trying not to... not to bow out here."

"Why wouldn't you bow out?  I'm giving you an easy escape here, dude.  We don't have to do all this.  I mean, thanks for holding my hand because I was totally chased by non-wolf entities in the woods, which we should probably look into still, but not the point.  The point is you don't have to pity me.  I can take it.  Just say it.  You'll feel better and I can get on with my life."  Stiles nods.  His brains are sloshing around and his nausea meter is rising but he'll take Derek's impending rejection like a man, because he's an adult and Derek is being all mature about this now, and he can do this.  Yeah, he can hear Derek tell him no.  Something clenches in Stiles' throat and his eyes water.  "Don't say it."

Derek looks taken aback.  On pause.  He doesn't seem swayed either way, stuck in limbo, shocked really and Stiles opens his mouth to say something but he chokes on words that aren't there.  This is something he can't erase, can't take back, and Derek is either his executioner or his savior.  "I didn't plan on it."

"Then that means..."

"That means I wanted you to stay home, away from this weekend, not because I wanted you to feel left out of the pack or out of the investigation, but because I didn't want any one of these wolves putting their hands on my Stiles."

Stiles snivels, and laughs once like he's seen the birth of Christ and it turns out he's made of nacho cheese.  It's a beautiful thing.  To hear himself go crazy.   _My_ Stiles... Stiles must be schizophrenic and hearing shit now.  Maybe he's not really here at all and they've already tied him down to a bed at the mental hospital.  That has to be it.

"Stiles?"

Stiles laughs to himself.  His eyes flicking around to see the many wonders of the afterlife, because if he's not crazy, he must be dead and this is his version of heaven.  He goes to his knees, which is a curious place to be, eye level with an angel's package.

"Stiles."  Derek shakes him.  "Did you hear what I said?"

"You are a gorgeous angel.  Has anyone ever told you that before?"

Angel Derek has the same furrow to his brow as Alpha Derek does.  His breath even smells the same as he leans down, like cinnamon gum and bad coffee that will still taste delicious if it's Derek's tongue he's tasting.  "Stiles, I think you're in shock."

"Nah, angel dude, I'm perfectly okay."

Derek groans.  "Stiles, you're not dead."

"Have to be, because Derek Hale just said I'm _his_ Stiles.  Like I'm his, as in matters of the heart, like possessive wolfie has it bad for his semi wizard human tag along.  Really his, and that means he wants me back.  But why would he want me?  Why would he wait so long to want me back?  I'm trippin', Angel Derek."

"Stop calling me that."  Derek gets to his knees and still somehow towers over Stiles.  "I waited because I'm the stupid one, not you, and I'm trying to tell you something really important.  So would you snap out of it and give me some indication  I didn't tell you all of that for nothing."

"Why?  Why do you want to be with me?"  Stiles stares up at Derek and the world fades out around them.  His heavenly vision has ceased once he realizes he's really here with Derek and this is not some coma induced dream.  Derek is really here with him, looming closer, touching his shoulders with searing palms.

Derek puts Stiles' hand over Derek's heart, atop his bear chest and closes his eyes as it beats erratically.  "Do you feel that?"

Stiles stills his hand, feels the thump of Derek's heart loud and beating against his palm.  It's screaming like Stiles' is, gnawing at his ribs to get out and be with its other half.  "Yeah."

"I want you because you are...you are the only reason it beats."

"And now I might be going into shock," Stiles whispers against Derek's lips.  

Because his alpha, his confessor, the man he's been in love with since he first got his driver's license is kissing him.  And he means it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Woke Up In A Strange Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the story tags before posting this chapter to include dub-con. I tried to make it as light as I could, but it was necessary for the story. So I hope you all enjoy and thanks for the continued love. ;) xxx

Derek is rigid as he leads Stiles by the small of his back down the beach path. So many things on his mind, there isn't enough time before they're due at the danceto sort them all out. Not that Derek knows how to sort. He's of more a compartmentalization kind of guy. Storing things away in the rusty, backlogged file cabinet in the deepest dwellings of his mind to get to later, or so he promises himself, but later usually never comes.

However, as he sees the curious smile on Stiles' face, he has a sinking feeling he'll have to deal with each and every blood-stained folder in his cabinet before he lets this relationship crumble. It scares him. A man who doesn't scare easily is terrified at the prospect of both a happily ever after and the process of cleaning the skeletons out of his closet. But he'll do it, he'll try. And he and Stiles will probably argue and yell and Derek will storm off because he doesn't like to talk, is terrible at it, actually, but he knows deep down he'll always come back to Stiles. Always with an apology. Always with a small piece of himself to give to the guy who has already given Derek so much. Giving without asking for anything in return.

It's all so new. Stiles. Smiling-if the uncomfortable way Derek lifts his upper lip qualifies. The holding... hands.

Derek's pulse quickens as he eyes their hands clasped together in a union of significance. Five fingers twined with five fingers, pinkies hooking over one another and a thumb gently stroking the soft skin at the side of Derek's wrist. Stiles isn't aware he's doing it. The circular motion a repressed craving Derek knows all too well. The need driving deep to touch his mate, to achieve a connection through bodily contact that sates all other desires. A simple act such as Stiles' thumb on his wrist calms Derek instantly.

And still, Stiles has no idea the effect he has on Derek. He's too oblivious, enraptured by the festivities revealed as they step onto the beach. And as Stiles is human, Derek doesn't blame him a bit. In fact, he takes pride in the birth of Stiles' breathtaking smile. The way it lights up his face and floods his brown eyes with a certain wildness Derek has known his entire life. Like Stiles can't believe he'd never seen this, like he feels the thrill hum through his body as Derek does. Like he'd been missing something, and as he looks up Derek with barely concealed glee, he understands he's found it.

There was nothing like the pull of the blue moon as it sat heavy over the water's horizon. The pregnant sphere, washed in deep shades of indigo and smokey cerulean, lending it's magic to the stretch of sand and the ever shifting waves as they lap against the shore. Hundreds of wolves are scattered about dry land in clusters, and some already wading knee deep in the water that calls them to play. But the showstopper is the large pile of carefully placed timber, set up in the stone fire pit in the center. It's taller than any man or woman present, took days to build and required permits to keep local law enforcement from showing up to shut it down.

Over to the right, a small circle of drummers were setting up, all of them bare chested and marked with red and black paint. Someone, usually the alpha's mate, would decorate their skin with the pack's oldest recorded family symbols as a blessing for the beat to stay strong. For the pack to stay powerful and for their rhythm to course through every wolf of age in attendance. They were the drummers, unaffected by the call of lust and love, but they were also spelled by the urge to keep drumming once the fire burst to life. No one knew why the drummers could play until sunrise, why they never looked away from where their hands slapped at the stretched leather under their fingers, but Derek's mother used to say it was the blue moon speaking to her children through the gift of her song. Through the beat of her heart.

Derek looks away from the drum circle after he thinks about his mother. He stares instead at the closest of the six smaller bonfire that each pack had lit a while earlier, signifying their part in the dance this evening. He feels Stiles' questions through the fingers that encircle his wrist and the pressure applied thereafter. Derek rumbles his satisfaction and looks over at Stiles. All sadness blown away under Stiles' wide eyed stare.

"You wanted to protect me from  _this_?" Stiles' lips flap open and then close before he yanks on Derek's wrist, like an excited child trying to pull his dad down the stairs for Christmas Day.  "Do you have any idea what  _this is_ , Derek?"

"Yes."

"Why, pray tell, would you keep this from me?  It's a freaking Blue Moon Dance!"  Stiles laughs and circles around to get a good look as if the scenery will suddenly cease to exist.  He stops in front of Derek and clasps his alpha's forearms.  "This, in the traditional sense, only happens... only  _never_.  The true ceremony has been watered down through pack generations all over the world, each country's practice more absurd than the last.  For instance, did you know that in China, the pack that holds territory over Changbai Mountain makes their unmated males hunt for miles to find their mates, only to have them consummate through intercourse in water that's over twenty feet deep?  Can you imagine having no holds barred sex while swimming after running back and forth over forty miles, if not more?  I mean, not that I've had sex, but I've heard it's strenuous enough without having to doggy paddle through the deep end like it's the wolf version of the Olympics.""

Amusement forces Derek's eyes to crinkle at the corners.  "Stiles."

Stiles let's his hands go so he can wander a few feet through the sand.  He stops again, Derek almost running into his back.  Stiles whirls around.  "They even have the drummers.  Holy fuck, Derek, make my day by telling me they are the descendants of the original pack's drummers and I can die a happy little spark."

Derek groans.  His shoulders sag.  This is not how he envisioned his night going.  How was he supposed to know Stiles and his brain that held many things would know about the Blue Moon Dance.  Then again... maybe his knowledge would make this all the easier.  Derek stares at Stiles, curiosity and hope filling his eyes.  "What if they are?"

Stiles makes a giddy noise through his teeth. Suddenly, his hands are back around Derek's arm and he forces Derek to walk further into the action.  "Stiles, tell me, how much do you know about the dance?"

"Well," Stiles' eyes take on a note of seriousness as he scans his memory in silence.  "It's considered tribal and therefore historically ancient to all packs, whether all packs' ceremonies are an inaccurate depiction of the original or not.  What matters is that they believe in what they're doing, which produces endorphins, heightens the packs bond and need to create closeness and add to their family, and that leads to mass sexual arousal.  Of course, the blue moon plays a big part too..."  Stiles strolls by with Derek on his arm, completely in his element, and out of touch with all of the werewolves looking his way with interest.

Derek's eyes are dangerously slanted back at them.  Many turn away.  But some stare back, an unspoken challenge brewing in the air because they know, like Derek, that Stiles has never been formally claimed.  Derek tightens his hold on Stiles, his chest puffed out and his eyes locked on his mate.  "And?"

"And what?"  Stiles blinks at him in disbelief.  He sighs as if Derek has never been through this before and gestures at the moon in the sky.  "The Blue Moon, in the magical community, is revered as a symbol of tranquility, of fertility and calm. It is said to hold more magic than a red moon, because a red moon is considered vengeful and masculine, and a blue moon appeals to a woman's womb, the place of which all life is created.  There's nothing more magical than a new life, Derek."  Stiles rolls his eyes. His fingers begin to move against Derek's arm, an animated gesture in which he tries to roll his wrist to get his point to follow. "The dance always involves water-a river, the ocean, a pond if you will.  Because water symbolizes life.  It symbolizes change.  No wonder you didn't want to come here.  You hate change." Stiles chuckles and keeps talking, but Derek is too busy to hear it.

Derek is immersed in Stiles' vast knowledge of magic.  Stiles has always been smart, forever researching and studying the world around him, but what reels Derek in is the obvious passion behind Stiles' words.  Stiles talks about the moon and the water like he can feel them, like he knows them.  Stiles looks out over the water with a gleam in his eye and his hands twitch restlessly against Derek's arm, a need to touch the untouchable like a spirit of a lost loved one that can never be held again.  The look on Stiles' face sweeps Derek under, tugs at his heart.  How could he have never realized this about Stiles?  How could he, a powerful alpha, have never seen Stiles for the magical being he really is?  When did it escape him that Stiles was all grown up?

"And what about fire?"  Derek murmurs, turning his body fully to Stiles to encompass him within his arms.

Stiles' eyes catch the burning light.  He looks up the scant inches between them.  His tongue wets his lips.  He's hesitant to say anything as he ponders quietly.  But Derek nods his encouragement, because he knows exactly where Stiles' mind goes, to the fire that took Derek's family away.  Although, this kind of fire has nothing to do with death, and the memories attached to the summer bonfires he attended when he was younger doesn't bring Derek any anxiety whatsoever.  Only hunger sticks upon his skin when Derek thinks of his younger days, of those sweaty nights when he had to sit on the sidelines near a mated alpha and watch the others dance.

"Fire, Stiles, what does it mean?"  Derek moves his hands down Stiles' back to trace the waistline of his sinful pants.

Stiles gulps.  "It's all consuming.  It's passion.  The Greeks weren't wrong when they called it a supernatural force, an element of divine origins."

"It's the fire inside us, Stiles.  It's the heat, the need that drives us, the passion to connect with our other half."  Stiles nearly stumbles backward but Derek's strong arms keep him in place.

"Yeah," Stiles breathes.  "I can see that."

"And do you know what happens when Alpha Clyde lights that fire, Stiles?"

The light in Stile's brain clicks on.  His eyes flash open wide enough to concern Derek.  "The alpha asserts his dominance, gives his blessing, and lets his pack run free?"

Derek's chest vibrates with a throaty hum.  He takes them a step forward, away from the others.  He can see the unspoken words racing through Stiles' eyes.  "Not just his pack, Stiles.  The others too.  They are drawn, for a single night, under all three elements and the hosting alpha's command, to bring new life unto their packs."

Stiles squirms.  His cheeks flush.  Red splotches creep down his stunningly pale chest until he's nearly sweating.  It's then he notices the other wolves staring at there way, at the human wonder in their midst and he squeaks under his breath.  "They're looking at us.  Like all of them, Derek.  They're probably wondering why the hell you're all over me and not Beth.  Because you were supposed to be posing as Beth's consort or whatever the hell you are with her tonight.  Oh my god," Stiles hisses.  "Get off me and go find her."

"I called it off.  I explained our situation to her father."

Stiles grabs Derek's hand and yanks him farther away from listening ears.  Derek shoots a threatening look over his shoulder and they all turn away this time.  "Stiles, slow down."

" _We_ are not a ' _situation_ '." Stiles makes air quotes.  "We don't even know what we are yet.  And here you are fucking up a perfectly good alliance with a reputable pack.  How much more laid back do you think Alpha Clyde is willing to be on your behalf, Derek?"

"The man listens to Jimmy Buffett and drives an over sized golf cart, Stiles."

"My dad digs Jimmy Buffett like the rest of the baby booming brigade but he still has his limits.  Clyde asked you here because he trusts you and now you're not making good on your promises.  What if we really need help in the future and Clyde happens to have 'prior commitments' and can't come save our asses when shit gets too deep?  Who's fault do you think that's gonna be, Derek?  Huh?  Who's?"

Stiles nearly jumps out of his see through pants when Alpha Clyde bursts into laughter behind him.  Derek smirks, it's too funny not to, and he offers his hand to the hosting alpha.  "Good evening, Alpha."

"Alpha Hale." Clyde nods and firmly grasps his hand.  "I see your loyal spark is concerned about politics already.  Good of you, boy, but rest assured there will be none of that tonight.  Had he told me sooner about his intended, I would have centered this gathering around the two of you as friends our pack.  And as you can see, Stiles, our numbers are more than enough to protect my child this evening, but your concern is appreciated all the same."  Alpha Clyde leans down next to Stiles' ear and whispers something that makes him blush again.  Harder this time.  Enough that he shivers and steps closer to Derek.

Alpha Clyde winks at Derek and then trots away to the center of the festivities.  He puts an arm around his mate Helena, a beautiful woman who looks to be in her early forties, but Derek knows from a long history between their families that she is much older than she appears.  And next to them is Beth, not short of any suitors this evening.  The anxious males around her may not be alphas, but they are strong and handsome and looked upon fondly under her father's all seeing gaze.

"So," Derek drawls.  "What has you the shade of an English Rose?"

Stiles clears his throat and hikes up his pants.  He lifts his chin defiantly.  "Nothing that concerns you."

"Is that so?"  Derek smirks.

"Yep."

"Nothing flattering to say about your pants then?"

Stiles pushes him.  There's no animosity behind his hands, only the scent of embarrassment left behind on Derek's skin.  "Stupid werewolf hearing.  I'm going to burn these pants in that fire tonight."

"But then what are you gonna wear?"  Derek hooks his finger under the speedo around Stiles' hips and gives it a good snap.

Stiles yelps and covers his groin.  "Do it again and I'll go looking for trouble. Over there."  He points to a seriously deluded beta from another pack who's eyeing Stiles up and down.  "And I'm sure he won't be snapping my wrapping."

"No," Derek growls.  His eyes flash red at the flirtatious wolf until the male has the sense to walk it off before Derek gets violent.  "He would be more than happy to take them off for you though."

"Seriously?"  Stiles gawks.  He sucks in air and shakes his head quickly.  "I thought... I thought they were all looking at you."

"Definitely not."  Derek grabs Stiles' arm, maybe a little too rough, but once Stiles is under his arm and drawn into his side, stinking of his scent, he lets up on his bruising grip.

"But I'm not... I'm like... I'm human."

"No, Stiles, you're magic.  You smell like...  Your skin is... We need to leave."

"No way." Stiles puts a hand to Derek's chest and pushes until there's room between them.  "First off, what do I smell like?  And secondly, what about my skin?  I know I have freckles, but I didn't know that was  a werewolf kink.  Is it my butt?"  Stiles turns in circles, trying to get a look at his ass in the pants.  "Do I have an attractive backside?"

"Stiles." Derek snatches Stiles to him and hisses in his ear.  "You  _are_ a kink at this event.  You're smooth and lithe.  Young and healthy.  You smell like goddamn sunshine and roses and once those drummers start up, it's going to be a Stiles-o-rama that Bacchus started and Aphrodite ended."

"You actually made a joke, a joke about Greek mythology.  Who _are_ you?  And oh my god." Stiles pales.  He's suddenly plastered to Derek's side, shoulders hunched under the bulk of Derek's bicep and eyes glancing about like a scared animal.  "Is that what I am to you?  I knew it.  I'm the Alpha's boy candy.  It's the pants, isn't it?  I look like a werewolf prostitute."

"Dammit, Stiles, you're not-" Derek goes silent as Boyd comes running at them from the treeline.  Isaac breaks through the bushes on the other side and his stride thins to a power walk before they both stop in front of Derek.  Derek can sense their unease.  He watches the way their eyes track everything around them even as they look directly at their alpha.

"Where have you been?"  Boyd asks of Stiles.

Isaac simply takes Stiles' hand and rubs it against his cheek, the worry draining from his face.  "We've searched everywhere for you."

"We didn't want to alert the media in case..."  Boyd flicks his eyes to Alpha Clyde at the center of the beach.  "But when we finally caught your scent, we came running."

"What do you mean when you finally caught his scent?"  Derek whispers furiously.  "I told you to watch him as soon as he left the cabin.  Where were the two of you when he went walking in the woods  _alone_?"

"We were right there at the back door!  I swear on my life, Derek."

Isaac nods sharply to concur with Boyd.  "One minute we heard them talking inside, and then next thing we knew Scott, Lydia and Allison were halfway to the beach.  When we went inside the cabin, Stiles was already gone.  And it's like we got lost after that."

"Yeah, it took us a while to find the beach even though we knew where it was."  Boyd and Isaac glance at each other and Derek isn't too happy about his betas being 'lost'.

"I left right after they did, but I took my time.  I followed the path."  Stiles tugs on Derek's hand. His eyes earnest and sharp. "I told you, you ass.  There was something out there."

"Stiles, you had a panic attack.  You were probably-"

 "No.  I have proof."  Stiles gestures for the three of them to huddle in.  "Earlier I was nervous about..." He looks up at Derek.  "Well, you know, coming to see you and everything, so I started talking to myself.  Or rather I was talking to my magic."

"You talk to your magic?"  Isaac looks on with interest.  "Does it talk back?"

"Shut up, man."  Boyd pinches Isaac's arm.

"Knock it off," Derek warns.  "Stiles, what did you say?"

"It wasn't anything I said.  I was projecting, seeking reassurance outside myself and my magic answered me."

Derek isn't following his train of thought, which isn't unusual.  He'd known Stiles for a long time, but the Stiles he knew and Practitioner Stiles were almost two different people that shared the same body but hadn't blended quite right.  Just like Derek's wolf was a part of him that spoke to him on another level, so was Stiles' magic.

Stiles groans.  "It's like after my college graduation and we discovered a rogue Hunter was after the pack.  He couldn't use Allison as leverage against Derek because Chris would call in every contact he knew.  So he went after me because I was crashing at the loft until I found a house.  I was an easy target, and even though I knew how to use basic magic, I still couldn't come back from a bullet without some serious spell power."

"I remember that," Derek spits out.  "We thought he'd taken you and we couldn't scent you.  I was..."

Stiles puts his hand in Derek's.  "We had no idea he'd be that ballsy.  Chris was parked outside the whole time and he didn't even see the guy scale the wall outside.  But the Hunter isn't what mattered.  I mean, he did because he was trying to kill me," Stiles laughs nervously, "but I was pretty worked up when you guys left me with Chris that night.  I was nervous and we all know when I'm nervous-"

"You'll talk to appliances if you have to."  Boyd sniggers.

This time Isaac pinches him back.  "This is serious."

"I was nervous," Stiles continues, narrowing his eyes, "and I talked to my... to my magic.  I'd been doing it for a while, ever since Deaton started me on those meditations.  It was the first time I really felt connected to it, like it answered back instead of taking me over and having its way.  We bonded or something."

"It protected you," Derek says.  "It masked you from danger even though you were right there in front of a Hunter."

"Something like that.  At first I thought he could see me and I froze, but then he kept going around me and looking all over the loft.  That was when I knew he had no idea I was there."

"But you ended up passed out in the preserve that night."  Derek frowns.

Stiles bites his lip.  "I might have followed him to the woods on foot so I could tell you guys where he was.  But I left my phone at the house, because of course that crap happens to me, and then you guys ended up finding him anyway and I might have been holding my magic for too long, or didn't know how to use it properly and I passed out."  Stiles offers his most innocent smile at Derek.  "Just a beginner's mistake.  No biggie."

"No biggie?"  Derek grabs the back of Stiles' neck and hauls his head back.  "You knowingly followed an armed Hunter into the woods with no protection because you thought you were still  _invisible_?"

"And don't forget adorable.  I'm pretty cute, you have to admit."

Derek's heart is racing.  His upper lip is curling back.  Other packs are starting to stare.  And all Stiles does is blink up at him with his big brown puppy dog eyes.  Derek reminds himself that Stiles doesn't think before he leaps in a moment of danger.  He is and always will be a protector before he allows himself to be protected.  And he's safe.  He's here.  The Hunter is dead.  Derek doesn't realize he is cuddling Stiles to his chest or that his claws are nearly sinking into Stiles' back until Boyd gently touches his arm and lowers his eyes in submission.

That doesn't mean Stiles is free to leave his arms.  Derek bows his head and sniffs Stiles' hair before he nuzzles his face in Stiles' neck.  "You are so stupid sometimes.  For an intelligent person, you would think you'd plan things through once in a while."

"I won't do it again.  I... I'm sorry, Der."

"You just better thank your lucky stars you were invisible and not dead, Stiles.  Jesus..."  Derek closes his eyes again and burrows further into Stiles' shoulder.  He runs his nose along bare skin.  A small moan escapes.

"I'm okay.  I swear, Derek.  I'm fine.  See?"

Derek tightens his hold, just shy of bone crushing.

"Can't breathe.  Come on, big guy, ease up a little."  Stiles keeps his arms around Derek's waist as Derek leans back.  "What you should really do is start listening to me instead of interrupting me with cuddles.  Not that I'm complaining about cuddling, I just think we have a more pressing matter on our hands."

"Yeah, we do.  Why you would go incognito on your pack when you're surrounded by strangers.  That is the dumbest thing you could-"

"But I didn't do it, Derek, not on purpose.  My magic sensed something.  Just like before."  Stiles sighs.  "It's like when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you only realize it's happening when  the goosebumps follow.  I'm not entirely in control of myself every second of the day."

"No shit," Derek grumbles.  "Fine.  So you got nervous and your magic sent out a safety blanket.  But how did Scott and the others go unnoticed by Boyd and Isaac?  They're wolves, Stiles."

"Maybe the safety carried over to them too because I care about my pack as much as myself.  It's not unheard of.  Just like the pack can feel each other through the bond we all share, of course I'm not a wolf so my theories are biased, but when you guys sense each other are in danger, the pack comes running.  In my case, it's magical protection that keeps my pack away from the danger, hidden from creatures of the night.  Pretty cool, huh?"  Stiles wags his brows and Derek's slant at Stiles.  "Oh come on, Derek, that's fucking awesome and you know it."

"Not the point.  Your magic carried over to mask an entire pack from something only you  _think_ you saw."

Stiles' face lost all humor.  He twines his fingers with Derek's.  "I was able to draw up a shield on the spot when I first felt whatever it was come near me.  I can't even do that when I'm having a panic attack, Derek. You know how long it took me during practices to put it in place.  For god's sake, it rippled when those things surrounded me.  They knew it was there."

Derek felt like he'd been punched in the stomach by a titanium fist laced with wolfsbane.  The very first thing Deaton taught Stiles was defensive magic.  It was by far the most important thing Derek wanted Stiles to learn because of how prone he was to danger.  After some serious study, Deaton let the pack mates take turns running at Stiles fully wolfed out, swiping at him with claws and gnawing at a non-existent bubble that knocked them backward.  It was impressive and scary-the look on Stiles' face, how scared and focused he'd been all at the same time.  But the fact still remained, although they could smell Stiles and see him because they were so close to him as pack, they couldn't detect Stiles' protective shield.  It surprised them every time.

So for Stiles to say they knew, they knew where Stiles was, even invisible and scentless, covered in a powerful shield to boot-that scared Derek shitless.

"Where's Erica?"

"Guarding Lydia over at the bar.  Scott has Allison, but she's got..."  Boyd lowered his voice to barely a whisper.  "She's armed."

"Good."  Derek kept his arm across Stiles's chest.  "Take Stiles to the bar with the others.  He is not to leave your sight.  I'm going to talk with Alpha Clyde."

"You think this is connected to the stalker?"  Stiles looks up at Derek.  A shiver runs through him and his throat bobs as he swallows roughly.

"It's a possibility, nothing to rule out at this point.  There are too many wolves here to cancel the event, and that might be what spooked your shield, but Clyde's mated betas need to be aware that my mate was threatened.  And that his pack could possibly be in danger."  Derek doesn't realize what he's said until he sees Stiles' shock, hears his heart race.  His scent changes like a strong storm rolling through.  It carries many tastes and all them move too fast to describe.

Stiles chokes and sputters.  "You're  _what_?"

"Stiles... Later."  Derek puts his hand up against Stiles' forehead before he can attack.

"Later?  Are you freaking kidding me, Hale?  Did I miss the part of your speech back on the path about us being... mated?"  Stiles sucks in air through his nose, eyes murderous.  "That's bullshit.  How dare you keep this from me.  All this time, Derek, and you knew.  You knew I wasn't some crazy, hormonal teenager.  You... let me think I was nothing."

A bevy of emotions crowd Derek's heart.  He wants to scream.  He wants to storm off, run away because he can't take the distrust and horror twisting Stiles' face.  He hates that Stiles has called him out in front of his betas, once again showing his weakness as a leader and a role model to his younger pack mates.  But he calms his raging heart beat and his face follows-emotionless and stony.  "Take him to the bar.  Guard him with your life.  

Boyd nods.  Isaac takes Stiles' limp hand.

Derek inhales his mate's scent as he walks around them.  He can feel Stiles' heartbreak.  Can feel his eyes on the back of his head as he beelines for Alpha Clyde.  Leave it to Derek to fuck up the best thing that's happened to him twice in less than a day. 

 

 

***

 

Stiles leans on the driftwood bar at the far end of the beach and glares at Lydia.  "I told you these pants are cursed.  Fuck that, _I'm_ cursed.  Destined to be alone and pining after walking disasters until the end of my days."

"Are you calling me a walking disaster, Stilinski?  I'll have you know-"

Stiles groans and rests his forehead on his arms.  "I didn't mean you.  Okay, the pining after you, yes, but that's old news and you're not a disaster.  Sometimes you're really scary, like the way you're looking at me right now..."

"Stiles..."  Lydia pouts and wraps an arm around him.  She smells like strawberry shampoo and ocean air.  How he wishes he craved that scent again.  Maybe it would easier to leave Derek behind.  "What did that asshat do now?  Less than ten minutes ago he was wrapped around you like he was trying to climb a tree and now you look terrible."

"It's the pants," Stiles offers.

"For the last time, those pants are perfect on you.  Isaac, aren't they perfect on Stiles?"  Lydia targets Isaac with a cock of her head.

Isaac smiles, all teeth and fear.  He runs a hand through his curly hair and nods because he knows better.  "They're great, Stiles."

"Liar.  I'm human and I can smell your stink."  Stiles huffs.

"I think they're sexy," Erica comments.  "Just a change from your usual wardrobe is all.  Suits you, though."

"Whatever."  Stiles waves her off.  He sulks in silence.  He can't bring himself to ask the questions he wants to.  Like had they all known about Derek being his mate, or the other way around?  Was it possible for a human and wolf to forge such a connection to begin with?  Why did they lie when they could have made Stiles' life so much easier.  Stiles sank onto a log bench next to Lydia and accepted her slender arm around his shoulders.  It wasn't as if this was the first time they'd lie to him, but those times had been to protect him.  He couldn't see them trying to protect him from Derek, though.  He was their Alpha!  They trusted him, like Stiles had trusted him.  Now he wasn't so sure if he trusted anyone but himself.

Scott was the first to broach the subject.  He crouched in front of Stiles, finally able to peel himself away from Allison's bikini clad body and offered Stiles a sheepish smile.  "I know what you're thinking right now, dude."

"You have no idea what's in here." Stiles taps his temple.  "Trust me."

"You think we all lied to you."

"Didn't you?"  Stiles rolls his eyes.  "And here I thought you promised to never lie to me again.  Did the warranty on that expire in the last hour or did I just miss something?"

"He only told me this afternoon and that was because he panicked."  Scott lays a hand on Stiles' knee.  "And really, what would you have done if I told you instead of waiting for him to do it in person?"

"That's my point, Scott, he didn't tell me.  He slipped up.  I'd probably be old and gray before he mentioned it."

Scott sighs.  "Dude, it wasn't my place to tell you that.  Don't you see?  It would be like me telling you my alpha loves you dearly before he does.  Not cool, man.  Bro code."

"Fuck the bro code, Scott.  I have loved him for years.  Loved. Him.  And he couldn't bring himself to say it back, to tell me something that important because he wasn't protecting me from himself, he was scared.  Scared of what, though?  Me?  A relationship with me was that hard to accept?"  Stiles bunches the fabric of his pants in his hands.  He really hates these pants.

"He's Derek, Stiles.  Words and feelings come easy to you.  But Derek, he doesn't know how to love after his heart was ripped to pieces."  Scott waddles forward and rubs Stiles' arms.   Stiles doesn't admit he likes the comfort out loud, but he does and Scott makes him feel safe against the unknown.  "It's not like you fell for him because he was a walking, talking romance novel."

Stiles snorts.  "No shit."

"Then give him some leeway, Stiles.  He's trying to be who you need and he's scared because he thinks he'll screw it all up and you'll leave.  You're his number one, above any of us and we're okay with that.  You've been with him since the beginning, while some of us have come and gone before we decided to stay for good.  But not you.  You're the one he relies on to stick by his side.  He was scared that if he fucked that up and you left, he couldn't live with himself."

 _You're the reason it beats._ Derek's words came to him softly.

Stiles had never thought of it that way before.  He'd never considered himself number one to Derek Hale.  There had been many times he helped the pack out of dangerous predicaments and saved their lives, and his, but... Derek had never treated him like anything other than human.  Until now.  And Stiles was suddenly scared he was the one who had messed things up.  Because Derek wasn't good with words and feelings, and Stiles had them in abundance, and his stupid mouth... Shit.  Derek was so lost he couldn't find his way through a relationship even with a map and a flashlight.  He'd lost his family.  He'd lost his old pack.  He'd been betrayed by Kate and beat down time and time again.  But he came back, under Stiles's awesome guidance and relentless pursuit to be his friend.  And it all became clear to Stiles that Derek did indeed rely on Stiles to be his side kick, his partner, the one to pull him out.

His gaze strayed to Derek's powerful form next to Alpha Clyde's.  He had his hands on his hips, body tense and alert.  Every few seconds, he looked over to Stiles but looked away just as quickly.  If nervous had a physical body, it would be Derek's, and Stiles ached to ease that tension.  He didn't know he'd moved until Scott clamped a hand on his leg and pushed him back onto the bench.

"He'll be over in a minute.  Let him do what he needs to do.  He needs to feel like he's protecting you and he is, Stiles, no matter what you think.  He wasn't kidding about these other packs eyeing you.  And if there is a threat out there, he needs to be in control of it as your Alpha and as your mate.  There's no greater need for an alpha than to protect their family, their loved ones."  Scott winks and Stiles' heart pounds.

"So he believes me?"

"He's never ever doubted you, Stiles.  Half of how we operate as a pack is based on your opinion.  Don't you get that?"  Scott squeezes between Stiles and Lydia.  Boyd and Isaac stand on either side of the bench, while Erica and Allison pace around the bar, eyes scanning the beach for signs of trouble.  It's obvious they're protecting their alpha's... mate.  Stiles feels the lump go down his throat.  This is his family.  They would do anything to protect him.  And Derek... Derek would give up his life if Stiles asked.  Because he...

"He loves me."  Stiles takes a shuddering breath.  "He really loves me."

Boyd clucks his tongue and slaps Stiles' upside the head.  "Stop sayin' stupid crap.  Of course he does.  We all do."

Derek's gaze snaps to Boyd.  That's when Stiles realizes Derek has heard every single word.  When he looks to Stiles his gaze softens before he shyly looks away.  Stiles would he melt into a puddle of rainbow colored goo and explode into a pile of glitter if it was possible.  The urge to rush to Derek was intense.  The need to taste his mouth was indescribable and that would be due to his inexperienced virginal status, but maybe tonight he could rectify the taste bit.   He wasn't sure how far he could go that quickly.

"Slow down there, killer."  Scott laughs in his ear.  "Give him a minute."

Stiles pants as quietly as he can.  His skin feels like it's on fire.  His eyes are trained on Derek and no one else.  If these wolves wanted to look, they could watch as he mauled Derek's mouth.

A giggle from behind the bar makes Stiles turn around with a glare.  He finds a slender woman with dreadlocks covering her mouth.  "Forgive me, Practitioner Stilinski, it is because I have never seen a human react to a wolf with such intensity.  Fear, perhaps, but never the way you seek your Alpha's attention.  Not quite as submissive as the other humans I've encountered."

"You're human," Scott counters with a disdainful sniff.  "A bartender at that."

"I apologize," she says.  "I meant no offense to his standing with his Alpha.  If anything I am surprised we weren't told your Alpha had taken a mate.  Word this weekend was Alpha Hale had come to seek Beth's hand, but it appears we were mistaken."

"Yeah."  Stiles scowls.  "You were."

She offers him a hand in apology.  "We started off on the wrong foot.  I'm Seraphine, emissary to the pack from Colorado.  I'm an old friend of Beth's and the Clyde family."

Stiles immediately relaxes. He remembers Beth talking fondly of the Colorado pack and also is aware of how dickish and protective he's being.  The only thing that will make tonight worse is if he lets his confidence issues with Derek get the best of him.  "No, I'm the one who should apologize, Seraphine."  He shakes her hand.  An electric tingle buzzes against his palm, almost as strong as his.  "Wow.  You have quite the energy there."

With a warm smile and a tight grip, Seraphine nods.  "Joined the pack almost twenty years ago.  They made sure I had all of the resources I needed when my mother, their former emissary, passed away."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Stiles' smile slides away.  He hates when people say that to him.  Sorry for your loss, like that makes it all better.  It's a kind reply, a normal one, but it doesn't really do anything to take away the pain.  Even after fourteen years the subtle throb will always remain.  Judging by the way Seraphine's eyes flick down at the bar, he knows she feels the exact same way.  Stiles takes his hand back slowly and smiles.  "But I'm sure she would be proud of your position within your pack.  It's not an easy one, that's for sure."

"Definitely not easy when you're doing the job without the title."  She pats his hand.  "It takes time to cultivate a bond with a pack as a human, to give them assurance you're confident in your ability to take on such a place in your family.  But I know from what I've heard you are without a doubt a true talent, and when the time comes, you will take that title rather than be given it."

Stiles looks over his shoulder at his pack mates, at the people he's called family for years.  They don't give him any indication that he hasn't been one of them since the beginning.  If anything, their pride in him radiates their love, filling him with the support he needs right now.  Stiles turns back to Seraphine.  "Yeah, I think that might be sooner than any of us realize."

She laughs and flips over a few glasses on the bar.  "Spunky.  I like it." She winks.  "So how about you make the honorary bartender happy and let me mix you up something good."

Stiles taps the bar with two fingers.  "Make it a double, my lady."  He eases his forearms onto the bar.  "So why are you playing bartender?  I would've thought you'd be more involved in the ceremony."

"It would be rather suspicious of me to hang around Beth all night, wouldn't it?"  She arches a brow.  The shells in her dreadlocks tinkle together as she moves around the bar to gather supplies.

That was when Stiles understood.  He leaned in.  "You're not here to play bartender, are you?"

"I make a mean wolfsbane wine spritzer, but sadly, this is merely a cover.  I'm here for the same reason you're pack is here-to protect my friend."  She eyes their surroundings quickly before shaking up a purple bottle.

"The stalker."

Seraphine nods once.  She pours a round of bubbly, purple liquid into some glasses on a tray.  A Muir Pack member takes the tray away almost immediately.  She waits until they're long gone before she looks Stiles in the eye.  "Have you sensed anything off tonight?"

The way she asks is if she already knows, and something in Stiles is hesitant, but his pack is calm and collected around him, so he takes a chance on Seraphine.  "Something chased me earlier in the woods.  Alpha Hale thinks it was wolves playing around, but I'm not so sure.  I've been around enough packs to know the difference."

She hums her agreement.  "Clyde is dispatching his available betas.  It seems your Alpha is smart enough to take precautions."  She nods at where Clyde stands with Derek.  Several of Clyde's strongest betas, men and women, begin to disappear into the treeline.  Stiles hopes he isn't crazy with nerves, and possibly hallucinated what he saw.  Deep down he knows he's not, and he's thankful Clyde is willing to help protect them all.  Even if they find nothing.  "And as is my duty as an older practitioner, it's my place to tell you should take as many precautions as possible.  Magic comes with enemies, especially when you're allied with Beth as part of Derek's pack.  Should the stalker be out here tonight, they would see you as a threat."

"I know defensive magic," Stiles argues softly.

"Yes, but defending others is different from defending yourself.  Tonight will be intense.  Societal lines will crossed and many here will be unable to react as they normally would.  It's up to you be aware of your surroundings and decide how best to protect yourself while defending your pack should it come down to that."  She reaches up to her neck where many strands of beads and trinkets overlap one another.  She unclasps a single necklace and hands it over.  It's beautiful-several strands of leather braided into a chain and a small, clear stone dangling from a white gold hoop.  Stiles takes it slowly and feels the power in his hand.  His magic doesn't flare in warning.  If anything, the necklace feels right as he curls his fingers around it and looks to Seraphine.  "It's clear quartz.  It's used to amplify magic and maximize spell casting."

"I've never used quartz before."  Stiles turns the necklace over in his hand.  The gem catches the light, seemingly trapping the fire's reflection inside.  It's hypnotic to look at and instantly he wants to wear it.  "But thank you.  It's gorgeous."

She pours a drink, something red this time and pushes it over to him.  Her dark eyes glitter as if she's supremely pleased to hear it.  "I'm very happy you like it.  I made it myself."

"Wow.  That's some skill."  Erica leans over to examine the necklace.  "Maybe you could make me one too."

A momentary flicker of anger runs through Seraphine's eyes, so quick no one else noticed but Stiles.  And even then he wasn't sure he'd seen it at all.  Positive he was crazy when Seraphine smiled sweetly.  "That can be arranged.  We'll talk tomorrow."

"Score."  Erica helps Stiles put the necklace on.  "Maybe it'll make me a badass too."  She kisses Stiles on the cheek, and then pats his shoulder.

"Maybe," Seraphine says.  She lifts the drink to Stiles.  "It's strawberry.  I'm sure you'll love this.  My mother's old recipe."

Stiles reaches for the drink.  It's cold against his hand, already sweating down the sides where droplets run down his fingers.  He hadn't realized he was thirsty or hot with all the flame action going on around him.  And plus strawberry is his absolute favorite.  Strawberry milkshakes.  Strawberry jam.  Strawberry gum.  Strawberry anything, really.  He takes a sip and closes his eyes.  It's cool going down, refreshing on his tongue, and he hopes he doesn't have to stop at one.

"Well I guess I'll have what he's having.  Looks pretty yummy."  Lydia drums her fingers on the bar, eyeing Stiles' last sip out the corner of her eye with envy.

Seraphine sighs and looks around.  "It seems I'm all out of strawberry for the night.  How about a lavender martini instead?"

"Sounds even better."  Lydia scoots up close to Stiles.  "Feel good now?"

Stiles is several beats behind her.  He's practically licking his glass for the last drop.  His body feels heavy but wonderful and his hands are sluggish as he sets his glass on the bar.  "I feel amazing.  Hit the spot.  On all accounts."

"Stop grinning, you idiot."  Lydia playfully pokes him in the side.  "Your knight in silky fur is coming over."

"You shut up."  Stiles pokes her back.  "He does have silky fur, doesn't he?"

Man, there was no way he was this buzzed after one little fruity cocktail.  If he didn't know better, he'd think he'd had twelve, and when he saw Derek striding over all sexy and powerful, Stiles decided he didn't care whether he was drunk or not.  He just wants to touch all that skin and grab onto Derek's hair and...

Derek is in front of him before he can think.  Stiles is out of his mind, can't even protest if he had a cognitive thought to do it as Derek hauls him to his feet and wraps him up in his arms.  Derek's lips are on his, hot and wet and crushing against Stiles's teeth.  His fingers are bruising.  His body is slick with sweat and Stiles thinks its the hottest moment of his life.  He tilts his head and opens his mouth, faintly aware of the howling in the background that gets louder as Derek licks the inside of his mouth.

Stiles moans into the kiss.  He threads his arms around Derek's neck, fingers sinking deep into Derek's thick, soft hair.   There's a second when he realizes he's hard, harder than he's ever been in his entire life and suddenly he's thankful for the thin pants and the ridiculous swimsuit that allows him glorious friction.  The freedom to rub against his mate's groin as he's planted on his back in the sand.  No idea what's happening to him and not sure that he cares, Stiles' head falls back, Derek now sucking at his neck, behind his ear.  Hands on his chest, skimming over his skin, fingers roughly pushing over his nipples then down to the drawstring of his pants.

Stiles arches against Derek, loves the heavy weight of him between his open legs.  Loves his hot breaths and his ragged, rumbling moans as they reach his ears and send tingles down to his cock.  With his head turned to the side, his neck bared to his alpha, Stiles sees Clyde lighting the fire.  His voice a distant echo in Stiles' ear.   Then the drummers start playing and Stiles can't breathe.  It's as if something that had laid dormant in his body has been switched on, his hips canting in time with the drums against Derek's body.

The moon seems bigger, encompassing the sky with it's brightness and burned at the edges with the lick of flames so high they touch the stars.  The packs are dancing, screaming, howling.  Bodies are writhing everywhere.  Skin against skin, lips  upon lips.  Growls and roars that he'd never heard before.  But somehow he knows his pack is near.  Somehow he can feel them in his veins and he stops caring, stops fearing the unknown.

He lifts his hips for Derek's eager hands that tug the rest of his clothing off.  And still the fear isn't there.  He's naked, vulnerable, laid out before his mate's hungry eyes and all Stiles knows is he wants it.  He wants this.  He wants Derek so bad he'll die if he can't have him.

Derek's eyes are red, narrowed, and they are determined to take in every inch of Stiles' skin.  His study is quick because the next thing Stiles feels is Derek's tongue between his...

"Fuck," Stiles hisses.  His eyes screw shut and his fingers dig into Derek's shoulders.  His legs are lifted.  His body bent almost in half and the heavy stone at his chest grows hotter with every passing second.

Stiles humps against Derek's mouth, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as a long tongue presses inside him.  His voice is raw.  He's sure he's screaming in pleasure, but he can't hear it.  Can't hear anything save for the beat of the drums.  His body is placed back into the sand.  Legs still open and Derek between them, Stiles looks up at his mate and his mouth opens with a guttural cry of terror.  But nothing comes out.  Derek's eyes are red, but they're not Derek's eyes.  Standing shoulder to shoulder with the stranger inside his mate are two viscous looking... dogs.  Because he's never seen a wolf like that before.  He's never seen anything like this before.

Stiles tries to squirm away, but the stone at his neck weighs a thousand pounds.  He can't move.  Can't scream.  Can't do anything but lay there as Derek thrusts into him for the first time.  His first time...

Stiles takes a deep breath and his world goes dark.

 

***

 

There's a drumming in his head, a constant pound that rocks his temples.  His eyelids won't open, but that doesn't stop the light from stealing the darkness between his lashes.  He wants to speak but his voice won't work and he's set upon moving his hands but they too seem useless.  Something cold presses against his forehead.  Stiles smells strawberries and he wants to vomit.

And his body suddenly works out that he has to move or he'll choke.  Stiles manages to roll over in one move and hurls into a bowl held out for him by dainty hands.   "Scott, get Deaton.  He's awake."

Someone is running.  The pounding gets worse.  Stiles groans and the sound hurts his entire body.  "Stiles, it's okay."  A soothing hand rubs his back.  "Just breathe, honey."

"Where am I?" he slurs.  "Who are you?"  His voice is sandpaper as it tumbles out of his mouth.  A mouth that's dry and crusty and tastes like garbage warmed over.

"Honey, it's me.  Lydia."  The cool sensation is back, this time at his neck and he's so grateful he doesn't fight it.  "Isaac, go call the sheriff.  He'll want to know too."

"On it.  Jackson sent a text.  He says they're on the way back.  He's not even opening the door anymore, Lydia."

Lydia's pressure on the cloth at his neck lifts.  She keeps a hand on his shoulder as she says, "If that fucker doesn't show up today, I will personally go out there and kick his ass.  Enough is enough.  He knows it wasn't his fault."

"Try telling to that a wolf that... did that... to his mate."  Isaac's gulp is loud and clear.  So loud Stiles throws up in the bowl again until he's pretty sure his organs are gone.

"Did what?"  Stiles groans as Lydia helps him onto his back.  His eyes are able to open after Lydia wipes his face.  Everything is too bright, even though the curtains to his bedroom are in place and the overhead light is off.  Stiles can make out Lydia next to him and oh is she a sight for sore eyes.  No makeup.  No long, luscious hair falling over her shoulders, instead thrown up in a messy bun.  She's wearing one of Stiles' old college hoodies and a pair of boxers.  She doesn't look like his Lyds at all.  "What happened?"

Isaac carefully sits on the edge of the bed.  He looks scared and helpless and his hand is already working towards Stiles' leg, like he can't help but touch to comfort himself.  Lydia has the same worrisome face, splotchy cheeks and bags under her eyes as if she hasn't slept in weeks.  And when Scott comes barreling into the room, he stops short to look at Stiles and then walks over the bed and collapses next to Isaac.  Stiles' best friend crawls over the mattress until he's plastered carefully to Stiles' side.  He inhales Stiles' scent, rubs their cheeks together and Stiles feels the warm wet tears that are not his own.

"Scott?"  Stiles is on the edge of crying himself.  His voice is broken and frail.

"You've been asleep for three weeks, Stiles."

"What?"

"Three weeks," Lydia repeats for Scott.  "Not even Deaton could wake you."

Stiles fell silent.  Three weeks in basically a coma.  But he felt... Shit.  He tried to move again and pain flared in his abdomen.  His chest ached and his legs were on fire.  "Why am I here?  I don't remember being here when I...  I was at the dance."

"Clyde transported you with his entire pack, Stiles.  He felt so guilty for not protecting you.  He was willing to leave his territory unsupervised to make sure you were safe at home.  He still has betas in Beacon Hills on watch."  Scott tucked Stiles's hand against his own chest and twined their fingers.  "Stiles, do you remember what happened?"

"No," Stiles whispers.  "Please, someone tell me what's going on.  Where's Derek?  I need to talk to him.  I just... I need him."

The three of them exchanged looks in front of Stiles.  Stiles was ready to risk the pain just to smack one of them senseless.  "Tell me what's going on.  Where is Derek!"

"He's not here, honey."

"But something's wrong with me.  Why wouldn't he be here?"  Stiles grips Scott's hand.  "Where is Derek?"

"He's not here because he thinks..."  Scott exhales slowly.  "He thinks he raped you."

"What!"  Stiles sits up so fast his head spins.  The covers slip from his chest and pool in his lap.  His skin is mottled with bruises and bandages.  He winces at the catheter between his legs and the tube he can feel atop his leg.  His eyes fill with tears.  "He didn't do this."

Lydia nods.  "He did."

"He didn't rape me," Stiles says flatly.  "Derek did not do this to me."

"He did it, but he didn't have a choice."  Lydia holds up a plastic baggie with a leather necklace inside.  "The drink she gave you was a fertility potion.  Dark magic that  was amplified with the spell woven into this."

What was once a clear quartz was now a ruby red, the bloody liquid sloshing about inside the stone.  Stiles' stomach turned and he reached out a hand.  Lydia was quick to supply him with the bowl and he hurled over whatever water was still inside him.  Fertility-the word repeated itself in his head.  "I'm a man," he coughed.  "Why me?"

Scott hugged him from behind.  "We don't know, Stiles.  We don't understand why she would do this to you."

"Where is that bitch?"  Stiles wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

"They found Seraphine's body ripped down the middle, Stiles.  She had smoke leaking out of her corpse."

Stiles' blood ran cold.  "I smelled smoke that night.  I told him I wasn't crazy."

"He believed you."  Scott held him still.  "He believed every word you said.  None of us could have done a thing to stop whatever the hell happened to you both.  I'm so sorry, Stiles.  I'm just so fucking sorry."  Scott's forehead rubs against Stiles's shoulder as they both start to cry.  "It's not your fault.  You didn't do anything wrong."

"What aren't you telling me?"  Stiles accepts Lydia and Isaac as they crawl to him.

Lydia takes Stiles' face in her hands.  She searches his eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.  "Stiles, honey, you're pregnant."

 

 


	4. The Smell of Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks for all the love. I appreciate it a lot.
> 
> Hope you like this.

Derek looks at the cracked mirror, singed and ridden with tiny bubbles above the fireplace.  The frame has long since become dust and rotting pieces of ember on the crumbling stone mantle, but somehow the mirror was saved, crooked and dangling on a thin metal wire in the brick.

He stares at his reflection, fractured spider webs in the glass cutting his features into thousands of pieces, and he knows, he just _knows_ he isn’t looking at himself.  He’s searching for himself.  For the person he used to be.  Longing for the wolf that had a place and didn’t worry about the earth beneath his feet breaking wide open at any second.

He searches his eyes for the boy that had a heart of gold, untainted by the darkness his adult version lives in now.  Fresh faced and optimistic.  Able to love.  Quiet and shy.  The boy, that if he ever had doubts, if his heart hurt in any way, he was able to run to his…

Derek’s sharp intake of breath makes him jump.  His eyes water and he can’t bring himself to look away from the mirror.  It feels like just yesterday she was right there, hugging him, making everything better.

_Talia Hale sweeps through the living room, gathering sweaters and boots and backpacks from the floor.  She tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and shoots her son an exasperated look.  “Derek, honey, lighten up on your sister, would you?  You might think you’re grown up already, but you’re sixteen and that is still your baby sister.  She just wants to spend time with you.”_

_Young Derek huffs dramatically.  “I made plans.”_

_“With your sister.”_

_“No, not those plans. Hanging out with the guys.  I can’t spend every waking moment with her, Mom. She’s annoying.”_

_“Derek Hale!” Talia scolds with a growl.  “Sometimes plans change.”  She stands, creating a pile of teenage belongings on the sofa.  “And sometimes you have to think about your family before your buddies or this case, guys you’re trying to impress for reasons unknown.  You’ve spent almost every day this week out in the woods with those kids from school, and don’t think for a second I don’t know what you’re up to. Or wonder why you’re even doing it in the first place.”_

_Derek grimaces.  “We’re just hanging out.”_

_“Drinking, Derek.  Sensitive nose, remember?”  She taps her nose and shakes her head.  “I wasn’t going to say anything the first time because you came home before curfew in one piece and you were still on two feet, but enough is enough, even for someone of your heritage.  Don’t make me involve your father in this. It’s not the fact that you can’t get a buzz, Derek.  It’s the principle behind it.”_

_“What does hanging out with my friends have anything to do with Cora!” Derek snarls._

_When his mom flashes red eyes at him, he drops the scowl and twines his fingers behind his back. He tries to breathe under her watchful alpha eyes.   “You can’t pretend that someone you love, someone who needs you, doesn’t exist anymore, Derek.  Those bonds are sacred.  And like it not, you can’t just will them away because you think drinking and brooding and being depressively ignorant is more important.”_

_“I…”  Derek looks at his muddy sneakers._

_“This isn’t you, Derek.  This is not the boy I raised.”  His Mom is suddenly in front of him, her fingers tracing his jaw and her eyes soft as he looks up.  “You’re a good person, and sometimes good people make mistakes.  All I ask is you don’t drive away those you love because you’re too ashamed to ask how to fix said mistakes.  That is just a part of growing up.”_

_The stairs creak.  Derek whips around to find Cora trying to make a clumsy escape upstairs.  Her wide eyes glassy, filled with hurt before she runs to her room and slams the door._

_Derek frowns at the stairs and then turns to his Mom.  “I’m sorry.”_

_“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”  She hugs him quickly and kisses his head.  “Everything will be okay.  You know how to make this right.”_

_“And what if I don’t?  What if I don’t always have the answers to every mistake I make?”_

_Talia grins.  “Honey, that’s what your pack is for—support, love, and guidance.  I’m the Alpha and even I don’t have all of the answers.”_

_“Well that’s reassuring.”_

_She chuckles, the sound familiar and comforting.  “Don’t be a smartass.  Go talk it out.”_

_Derek rubs his lips together and dives in for a quick side hug.  “Love you,” he mumbles._

_Talia looks in the mirror, her smile warm and painfully hard to look at.  “Love you too, kid.”_

Derek gasps.  His hands are shaking, his grip white knuckled on the jackhammer’s handles.  He looks away from the mirror, coming back to the remnants of his childhood home.  Shambles.  Ashes.  Nothing fit to call anything anymore.

“Come on, Derek, open the hell up.  Obviously you’re home; I can smell that you haven’t showered in weeks and that emo rock you’ve got blasting at earsplitting levels isn’t helping your case,” Jackson shouts.

The pounding at the door continues, yet none of them try and open it, and for good reason.  They know better than to try.

Derek hears them loud and clear above the sound of the backhoe loader he’s using to demolish the fireplace’s raised hearth.  Even above the awful rock channel he's streaming through his Bluetooth speaker.  His pack is relentless, but so is he.  He has to keep going.  He has to distract himself.

If he stops he’s positive he’ll die.  Or keep hallucinating thanks to visions through a piece of shit mirror.

Sweat trickles down his neck, down his back.  His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth together for eight hours at a time.  The safety glasses sitting on his nose are covered in brick dust and black smudges.  And he doesn’t give two fucks.  He wants to be covered in the house, needs to feel the last bits of his family shelter his skin as he picks away at the only place he has ever called home.

Or at least the only physical place that’s even remotely come close to home besides… No.  He chokes on his name.  He can't say it out loud and it's not like doesn't think about him every sixty seconds as it is.   Frustrated, Derek kicks a piece of brick out of the way and continues.

His physical labor had been a secret he kept from Stiles in hopes that his mate, before the night of the dance, could see how far he’d come, how integral Stiles was to the pack, to Derek's life.  And for the past two weeks, Derek had revisited what he liked to call his several month long construction immersion program: tearing shit down, building shit up, wrecking, slamming, and demolishing what used to be because he couldn’t stand the sight of it any longer.  He couldn’t look at this fucking house, his parents’ house, and know that wherever they were right now, they couldn't be very happy with him.

Their once promising son is now an inconsolable mess.  A weak man.  A terrible person.  An even worse leader.

Because that’s the story of his life; he is king of the let downs, creator of unhappy endings, a cruel and twisted joke born into the world to make everyone miserable.  There was no way his family could have missed this cosmic failure, the most epic of them all; a thing of which psychopathic horror movies are made of.

Horror movies…

Derek pushes the loader down so hard it starts to whine and protest under his strength.

Stiles loves horror movies, but he doesn't have to star in one just because Derek is a monster.  However Stiles didn’t have a choice, so now he's become the victim of Derek’s assault.  And Dereks _hates_ this.  He hates himself more.

“They may have given you all the time you need to hide, Derek, but I’ll remind you this is _my_ house just as much as it yours and I have no problem opening this door,” Cora’s voice sounds over the music.

Derek stops the jackhammer and turns to the closed door.  A new door he’d installed three days ago.  Through the frosty oval window he sees her slim silhouette and it’s like seeing a ghost, like dreaming of the little girl she used to be; his sister that he tucked into bed once upon a time and read her stories until she curled into his side and fell asleep.

“I’m coming in, Derek.”  Her voice... The same one he saw several years ago and Derek's reminded that Cora isn’t so little anymore.  Hardly a shred of the sweet cheeked angel Derek loved is left.

Derek tastes the minute flash of rage that bursts over his tongue before he throws the jackhammer aside and stomps to the door.  He’s so close to the glass he can feel the heat of her tempting the wolf in him, he smells her as if he’s holding her in his arms.  But she doesn’t smell the same.  Doesn’t smell like pack, like his family, like his little sister—his sister, that as far as he knew had no intention of ever coming back to him.  So the fact she's standing on his doorstep, shipped in express from South America, means his pack has resolved to take extreme measures.

“Derek?”

“No,” he growls at the jiggling door handle.  “You don’t get to come here and act like you have the right to say anything to me.”

Immediately the handle stops moving.  She heeds his warning.  She knows him all too well.

Cora ran off to South America after the fire that took their family.  She let him and Laura think she was dead for years, that she’d burned alive.  And even after she revealed her hiding place, and then Laura died, Cora still showed no interest in being a family with him, in being pack.  She left again.  She abandoned him.  So she didn’t get to come charging in like they were still close and judge him during his last and final straw at being human.

What he’d done to his...  To break his mate was to break his life into more pieces than after the fire.  He mourned the loss of Stiles, yet his mate still lived.

There’s an eerie silence as Derek cuts the music off.  Minutes go by until he makes out hushed whispers, identifies the speakers as Jackson and Erica, but they’re smart enough to stay out of range and talk low enough for their words to sound like static.

Cora is close to the glass again.  She puts her hand to the door and leans in.  “He’s awake, Derek.  Stiles is awake.”  She puts her forehead to the door.  “Der, no matter what differences you and I have, it is my place as a decent person to tell you he needs you right now.  For all the judgement you throw my way, I'm still your sister and you’re better than this.”

Derek backs away from the door like he’s been stabbed.  He falls to his knees as Cora’s form retreats down the porch stairs, reminding him of the last time she walked out his life.  Hands splayed across the dirty hardwood floor, Derek gasps for air when it hits him.  

His mating bond flares to life, sinking into his body like a million needles driving deep.

Stiles’ pain.  His fear.  His horrified eyes and helpless body.  His screams. Derek tips his head back and howls.

Three howls greet his anguish.  He doesn’t deserve their love.

***

Stiles is sitting on his sofa, wrapped in a blanket with the air all the way up.  He likes it cold. Hes likes the shaking, gives him something to do with his restless energy when he can't get up easily.  When his toes finally go numb from the frigid air, he feels balanced, unfeeling inside and out.

“Hey, kid.”  His dad slowly sits next to him.  He places a tentative hand on Stiles’ knee.  “I told them all to take a hike… at least out of hearing range.  It’s just you and me for now.”

Always has been, Stiles thinks.

For once Stiles cannot find it in himself to speak.   His Dad’s hand is warm and welcomed.  And although his Dad is acting calm for Stiles’ sake, Stiles knows John Stilinski is as freaked out as his son is.  Together they’ve been through hell and back, kept each other afloat for so long Stiles wonders how they’re still making it work, but the great thing about his dad is that they can just be, all questions answered in their own time.  Because most likely they already know the answers, it’s just that they’re not really good at being brave enough to say them out loud.

Sometimes it's a relationship preservation tactic.  Sometimes it's just a father and son.

In his dad’s presence Stiles feels fragile for the first time in a long time, aware of how twisted his life has become, unexpectedly lost and heartbroken.  The only person he’s never questioned in all aspects of his life is his dad.  And as much as he harps on him, makes sure he eats and sleeps and has clean clothes to wear for the week, and they don't even live together, Stiles realizes he is only one person and so is his dad.  So sometimes it’s okay to reverse their roles and let his dad be the parent. 

This would be one of those sometimes, most definitely one of those sometimes.

Leaning over to the right, Stiles rests his head on his dad’s shoulder and draws his feet up underneath him.  He closes his eyes as his dad puts an arm around his shoulder and kisses the top of his head.  “You eaten?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“You wanna?”

Stiles shakes his head again.

“Then can I just talk and you listen?”

Stiles nods.

His dad sighs and rubs his back.  “When you called me and told me you were going to San Francisco for the weekend, I knew something was up.  You’re not exactly the bay type, and you’re certainly not the kind of guy that just ships off with Lydia and Allison for a weekend excursion.  Doesn’t take much effort to see the flaws in a getaway that involves Allison without Scott either.”

Stiles’ mouth twitches.

“But then Derek called me the same night you left.”

Stiles sits up straight and looks at his dad.  “What?”

His dad nods.  “We’ve never been what you’d call close, Derek and me, but he knows the line is open if he needs it.  And son, that boy could barely get a word out.  Had no idea what he was even talking about until he asked me if I thought he was good enough for you.  About blew my mind, Stiles. Could say I didn’t see it coming, but to actually hear it from Derek Hale…”

“He called you…”

“Told me bits and pieces.  He apologized for treating you wrong, I didn’t know what he was talking about, and then he just said he was going to do right by you from now on.  Promised to keep you safe when you were gone.  I didn’t really care much beyond that because for Derek to call in the first place is all the assurance I need, Stiles.”

Stiles is too cold.  He’s pretty sure that any moment his breath is going to fog out of his mouth and his lips will turn blue.  Because never in his wildest dreams did he ever think Derek Hale would call his Dad and say such, only to remember in the next breath that the same guy, the guy he loved, had left him to face this all alone.  So much for keeping Stiles safe.  So much for a lot of shit.

“You should care beyond that,” he finally breaks the silence when his dad tenses.

John Stilinski sighs and closes his eyes.  “Yeah, I probably should, shouldn’t I?”

“Hmm, well let’s see.  I’m pregnant, Dad.  Like pregnant with a child that is actually going to grow inside me.  Because I’m a guy and that’s not at all strange, right.”  Stiles didn’t recognize his own voice.  It's small and timid, just this side of breaking.  “And that… Derek’s not here and he’s not coming back.  And he doesn’t want to be this way and neither do I, for this whole situation I mean, and he just… he just…”

“Dammit, Stiles.   I need you to breathe for me, kid.”  John rubs his back and puts a hand over Stiles’s chest.  “That’s it.  Take a nice, deep breathe for me.  Yep.  That’s the way, son.”

His breath rushes out of him in a whoosh. The panic attack is under control for now, never fully realized because the shock is just too great, yet the terror of Stiles’ situation is still there.  It had been one kiss, his first honest to god, non-life or death worthy kiss with someone he liked, a guy he was infatuated with.  To top it all off Stiles was pretty damn sure Derek Hale had been reciprocating those feelings.   One single glance of Derek inside his body, the moon high in the sky, before something sinister took the reins from Derek and Stiles ended up where he was now; scared and unsure if he should be feeding his fetus kibble or typical pregnant fare such as peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.

Derek has made it clear through his pack mates he refuses to be within a mile of Stiles.  Stiles is pregnant, freaking pregnant!  With a child.  Which means in his stomach bakes a tadpole that could one day become the furry Antichrist.  And for some reason this no good rotten bastard that smelled like the end of a smoking gun, said evildoer who was wearing Seraphine like a skin suit—not at all invasion of the body snatchers or anything—wanted Stiles to end up this way.  That is officially too much.  “I can’t…do this.  Hurts.”

“Sure it does.  But you’re not a quitter. You want the truth, Stiles?”  His dad starts to rock him back and forth, keeping his hand on Stiles’ chest as he regains control of his breathing.

“Is it bad?”  Stiles wipes tears from his eyes.  “I can’t handle anything else right now.”

“It’s the truth and sometimes it’s painful, but I want to let you know that I’m here and we’ll deal with this just like we deal with everything else.  I don’t pretend to know where Derek’s head at is right now.  I can only speak for myself, and for you based on the fact that you’re my child and I know your every tick and whim. ”

“Deal with it, Dad?  Are we talking with secret pizza deliveries I order right under your nose and with wolfsbane and lots of heavy herbal artillery?  Because that’s how I have to deal with everything.  But right now I don’t want to deal, not even for pepperoni and cheese, and that sounds really good right now.”  Stiles covers his mouth for a second, getting his emotions in check.  “I don’t think I can deal anymore.  I’ve hit the limit.  Didn’t know I had one until now but this is it.  The real deal, Dad.  Stiles Stilinkski has reached the point of no return and refuses to go back.  I’m in limbo.  Stuck.  And pregnant.”

John gives him a sidelong glance.  “Stiles, I just came to see my son who hasn’t been awake in three weeks, only to find out he’s pregnant, and his boyfriend is holed up in that damn house, howling and breaking things and thinking he raped you.  It’s up there on the weird scale, kid, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I hadn’t expected you and Derek to be easy.”  He holds a hand up to Stiles as his son gapes and sputters.  “I know what I said about Derek and I being on slightly shaky ground when it comes to you, but I think I’ve been around the two of you long enough to notice what’s there and that both of you were in some sort of denial.”

Stiles slouches against his father.  “That’s one way of putting it.”

He stares at the slider door that leads to his tiny backyard, different than the one he shared with his dad up until his sophomore year of college.  Stiles’ new backyard is closer to the preserve, more woods and more privacy.  Even the stupid trees outside, their leaves swaying in the wind, remind of him of Derek.  And if he opened the door and let in the smell of the dying sun, the baked grass and the scent of the earth, he’d probably die from missing Derek too.

Although up until recently Stiles had felt their relationship was a bit one-sided, he couldn’t help but not think of all the instances when he’d missed Derek’s subtle drops and the times he let his guard down for no one else but Stiles.

_Derek and Stiles are sitting at the sun bleached patio table in Stiles’ new backyard.  There’s a sold sign strewn on the grass at their feet and they each have a beer in hand.  Stiles doesn’t even try and fight the grin stuck on his face.  And for once, neither does Derek._

_“You chose this house because it borders the preserve.”_

_Stiles eyes Derek and winks.  “Someone has to play watchman when the wolves are at play.”_

_Derek rolls his eyes.  “We’re getting you a security fence. Don’t argue.”_

_“Then I want a balcony up there with a rifle mount, and possibly a sword.  Oh, and a cloak.  Most definitely that.  I feel as though a watchman would be classy and knightly.”  Stiles chuckles and sips his beer._

_“Classy?  Are you wearing stilettos as part of your new position?”_

_“I’ll have you know my calves have never looked better than when I put on my heels.”  Stiles licks a dribble of beer off the back of his hand and continues laughing at Derek’s sexy grin.  His laugh fades away as Derek keeps staring._

_“You sure you like this place?  You’ll be happy here?”_

_Stiles’ heart is racing.  He’s somehow in tune with every flicker of life within Derek.  He has to grip his knee not to reach out and see if it’s a mirage.  “I love it.”_

_Derek inhales slowly, his chest lifting ever so slightly like he’s proud and a predator all at the same time.  “Good.”  He sets his beer down and stands.  “I’m gonna start painting the bedroom again.”_

_And before Stiles can say Derek’s name, the alpha is gone down the hall and the music starts up again.  Stiles places his bottle to his lips and relaxes back into his plastic chair, oddly smug and he has no clue why._

“No.  Don’t go there.”  His Dad turns Stiles to him and he’s back to the real world.  “This isn’t the end, kid.  Us Stilinkski men don’t give up that easy, especially my son.”

Stiles sighs.  “Dad, this is different…”

“So was my son telling me that werewolves were real a number of years ago.”  John lifts a brow.  “But we got through that.”

“Dad, I am literally defying nature here.”  He points to his stomach.  “While I’m doing that, the only person who has ever expressed serious, long term interest in me wants nothing to do with me anymore…”  Stiles sits up straight when something his dad said hits him.  “Did you say house?  Derek is holed up in some house, breaking things and howling away.  That’s what you said.”

John grunts.  He pushes up from the couch and stands.  Shoving his hands his pockets, Stiles’ Dad starts to pace.  “He’s out at the ruins.”

Ever since the Hale fire had happened, John Stilinksi took to calling the old preserve house the ruins.  Not in front of Derek, of course, because no matter John’s opinion he was still a father and still sympathetic to Derek’s heartache.  Besides the stupid nickname and making matters worse than possible, Derek had chosen to make himself permanently miserable by squatting on his old stomping grounds.

They’d worked past this, before anything romantic blossomed between them.  Derek had moved into the loft with specials features such as glorious indoor plumbing and a bed that had a frame, a safe place for his pack to gather and enjoy their alpha’s company.  The Hale house in comparison was cold, moldy, damp and sad.  It wasn’t even a shell of the family’s former abode anymore, just the foundation for clinical depression.

“He promised me he wouldn’t go back out there alone.”  Stiles was on his feet in a flash.  Not a great move as the room spun for a second and he had to grab onto his Dad’s arm.  That's right, newly pregnant, catheter loathing, and covered in aches and pains.

“Hey.  You need to sit down and relax.  Don’t work yourself up, okay?  He’s got round-the-clock surveillance.  Trust me.”

“But he’s there.  That’s my point.  Being in that house is not good for him!”  Stiles hisses, anger surging through his veins.  He clenches the sofa cushions that greet his ass again and narrows his eyes at his father.  “Get him on the phone.  Now.”

John is looking at him like he isn’t seeing his son and instead a flesh eating troll is seated in his place.  “Stiles, calm down.”

“No, I’m not going to calm down.  I’m done being the happy-go-lucky, smart enough to save everyone’s asses, human version of his beta.  Derek said he wanted me, promised he meant it, and he’s going to uphold his end of the bargain.  If he doesn’t I’m going to make him.  I’m tired of feeling like shit right after something good happens.  What the fuck is it about me that the universe is like, yes, screw with him!”

“Stiles!”

“What?!”

“You’re hyperventilating.”  John rushes to him and catches Stiles just as he starts to collapse on his side.  Stiles hears people running through the front door and someone or a group of someones are growling and barking orders.  And then there’s Deaton, glorious ol’ Deaton, because surely when Deaton is on the scene, shit cannot get much worse, and that’s got to be worth something.

***

John puts a hand over his radio to silence the dispatcher for a second.  “You sure you don’t need me?”

Stiles nods.  He lifts a hand at his dad.  The sheriff reluctantly ducks his head into the hallway and closes the door behind him.  Stiles knows that not only is his dad not going to leave him without proper supervision, but that at this very moment he’s calling Danny to make sure a deputy is stationed in the parking lot.

Stiles never thought he'd find himself lying down on Deaton's cold metal slab of a table for anything other than the treatment of a violently incurred wound.  Circumstances proved him wrong, and not only was the metal table now padded with fresh blankets and a plush pillow under his neck, but there was new equipment that looked suspiciously like ultrasound technology.

In his hazy state and with Scott doing all of the talking, and onnce he’d come to surrounded by pack, Stiles had been lured here under the pretense that Deaton found new information on Stiles' 'condition'.  What Scott left out was that Deaton didn't have any new information because he first needed to check Stiles out.  Inside and out.

Realizing all too quickly this was going to be his first prenatal checkup, at a druid veterinarian's office, without Derek's hand to hold, because this was his baby after all, Stiles turnsd his head away from watchful eyes and tries to breathe.

"Stiles?"  Scott's voice seems far away, yet the hand brushing through Stiles' hair is right there.  "Hey, dude, I'm right here.  Everything is going to be okay."

"Yeah. Right."  Stiles sniffs and closes his eyes.  "I'm going to give birth to god knows what and he doesn't give a damn.  How is any of that okay?"  Stiles opens his eyes to scowl a Scott, but his best friend is too busy mouthing a conversation to Deaton.  Both of them slashing fingers across their throats and shushing each other.

Stiles glares and huffs his way to sitting, ignoring the flaring pain in his body to get a better look.  "What is going on?"

"Well, this is the next step in treatment, usually, after finding out a... person is with child."  Deaton fingers his stethoscope around his neck nervously.

"I'm not talking about baby's first check up, Alan.  I'm talking about this."  He points between Scott and Dr. Leaves A Lot of Shit Out.  "I'll wait all day if I have to.  You know I will.  And the first person to gel up their fingers and touch my stomach gets a rude awakening."

Scott deflates of tension and plops down on the roll around stool.  He twines his fingers together and stares at them, dejected as ever.  "We kind of made a decision without you, but I want you to know that we did it because we love you, man.  Plus, there was already a ton of stuff going on and we thought if he knew... he might really go off the deep end."

"What did you do?"  Stiles snatches Scott's hand up.  His fingernails bite deep.  "What.  Did you.  Do."

"Derek doesn't know you're pregnant," Scott rushes like it's all one word.

Stiles blinks several times, unsure if he heard that right.  He removes his hand from Scott's and flicks the blanket over his legs onto the floor as he gets up.

"Stiles, slow down.  Let's just-"

"You didn't tell him?  Well fuck you."  Stiles kicks the blanket across the room and forces out his best growl.  "He thinks he raped me!  He's scared I will never ever come near him again because of what he didn't do.  To him, I was family, like blood because he doesn't have any of that left besides Cora and look how great she turned out.  I was his mate!  No, I _am_ his mate.  He thinks he lost me, Scott, but he hasn't.  And don't you think he deserves to know that not only did he _not_ lose me, but that his family is going to grow by one more. This is what he's always wanted, Scott.  For fuck's sake."

"But is this what _you_ want, Stiles?"  Deaton hits him with a serious stare, an unspoken and logical purpose behind it that stops Stiles dead in his tracks.

Stiles whimpers and reaches for the closest thing to hold him up.  It happens to be Scott's hand, and that turns into Scott guiding him back to the table and rubbing his shoulders as Stiles fights off a wave of nausea.

It's clear now why they didn't tell Derek about the pregnancy.  Why they gave him a few days before coming to Deaton's for a full workup.  Why they are now staring at Stiles with a mixture of anxiety and pity.

They were giving him a chance to back out while Derek was none the wiser to the child in Stiles' belly.  They were letting him know it was okay if he didn't want to continue to let it grow, to give it up and never be the dad Stiles wanted so desperately to be.

Then again, he'd never told anyone that.  He'd never said out loud how much he wanted to watch his children play in the yard and wrestle it out.  Watch them bake cookies and help them with the icing at Christmas.  Watch them crawl onto Derek's lap and see the joy return to his eyes after being empty for so long. He feels it in his veins, his connection with Derek, and he mourned their child even though it was still alive.

"No," Stiles howls.  "I won't let you."

"Stiles, calm down."

Stiles slaps his arm out blindly and pushes Scott away.  "Don't touch me."

"Stiles, we just wanted to know for sure.  To give you the choice."

"I never had a choice," Stiles screams.  "This is my life and this..." He looks down where his hand suddenly rests on his stomach.  "This is mine just as much as it is Derek’s.  And I don't care how it got there or what the hell is going to happen, but it's ours and no one is gonna take it away from us.  I know he would die if he found out I even thought about giving it up.  He’d kill me and I would let him."

“Wise choice, Stiles, because it wasn’t really an option to begin with.”  Deaton holds his hands up in surrender and Scott backs away.  “What I was going to tell you, before we came to this point, was that not only was the spell cast on you amplified by the use of clear quartz, it also clearly magnifies your natural protection and that over your child.”

“How the hell do you know that?”  Stiles is nearly out of breath.  He turns in a frantic circle until he can see his distorted reflection in the shiny metal door.  The air around him shimmers gold and Deaton steps up behind him.

“It’s rare to physically see another’s protective boundaries, as most of the time the only one who can see it is the caster themselves.  But it seems the spell coupled with the child’s hereditary magic inside you, both have a need to ward off any perceived threat around you.  A threat as well as protection in the highest form of magical power.”  Deaton takes a step back as Stiles turns to look at him.  “In layman’s terms, nothing, and I mean nothing can hurt you as long as you carry that child.  The moment I touched your stomach when you were still unconscious, your power sent me into that wall over there.”

Stiles drifts closer to Scott, but he kept looking over at Alan, his former teacher who could be trusted for factual information.  Scott nods to Stiles.  “You really did.  He said it felt like being stabbed repeatedly with needles.”

“From head to toe,” Deaton adds.  He crosses his arms and sits down at his desk.  “I didn’t even have time to react before it took me over.”

“Dude, there’s more.  The reason Clyde still has pack in Beacon Hills is because this was all planned.  The stalker, the one that was supposedly after Beth, sets it sights on you instead because Beth was wearing this the night of the dance.”  Scott holds up a leather lanyard with a  protective rune charm dangling from the end.  “Beth was wearing one of your charm necklaces the night of the dance, and because it was a custom piece by you for her, whatever possessed Seraphine was unable to touch her.”

Stiles snatches the necklace from Scott’s hand.  “The braiding I did…  It’s like the one Seraphine gave me.  I thought it was familiar.”

“It was the perfect gift indeed.”  Deaton stands.  “She gave you something based on your particular tastes.  The creature’s first gesture that you have been chosen in Beth’s place.  Beth was the creature’s last intended victim, with the gifts and the phone calls.”

“What do you mean?  I’m getting gifts and now I’m the chosen one?”

“You were unclaimed and vulnerable in the creature’s eyes.  Your gender didn’t matter to them, only that the spell worked and you became pregnant through Derek, who was also the foundation of the spell as an alpha with immense power.”  The druid offers Stiles his chair, but Stiles refuses.  He can’t sit still if he tried to right now.  “Scott says you drank something Seraphine made you that night, so we did some blood tests the night you arrived back in Beacon Hills.   You are most definitely pregnant, Stiles, and I have no doubt the child is Derek’s, but the spell was not meant to continue the Hale Stilinkski line or to discover human male pregnancy.  It was to create a child for someone who is unable to have one on their own.”

Someone wanted Stiles to take care of the child inside of him until birth, but then that someone would take the child from him?  “No.  That’s not happening.  This is my child.”

“And we intend to keep it that way.”  Deaton opens a desk drawer and pulls out a book.  Old, leather bound, the kind of book from a Halloween special on television.  But Stiles deals in relics, power items, references as old as time.  He’s made a career out of it, in fact.  He immediately recognizes the book’s power by the tingle that races down his spine as he touches a page.  “An old friend lent me this volume from his collection.”

“Must be quite the collection,” Stiles murmurs, taking the book from Deaton.  “I don’t recognize these names, but these symbols, the Latin, this is a demonologist’s journal.”

“You are the best apprentice I have ever had.”  Deaton pats Stiles on the back.

Stiles smirks. “Only one you’ll ever have.”

Deaton shakes his head.  “Yes, the friend I borrowed this from is a druid who specializes in demons.  I called him when something struck me as odd as I was writing down the facts of your case.”

“Plan on giving me my own file?”

“Oh, of course I do.  You’re a pregnant male practitioner.  It would be beyond my control not to.  And I gave an oath as an ally to this pack and to the Hale family that I will do whatever is in my power to help.  I’ve had nearly three weeks to gather as much information on your predicament as I could, but I would really appreciate your help, and I think it’s time we involved Derek now that you’ve wrapped your head around the idea of a child coming into your life.”

“I’m all for slapping Derek upside the head right now, but I need to know what we’re dealing with here.  He’s the kind of guy who needs black and white proof that he didn’t hurt me intentionally.  You know Derek, always blaming himself, plays the self-loathing card.”  Stiles flips through the book.  “So why demons?  I get the dark magic part, but it could be witches.  Stealing energy through a soul like Seraphine—that’s a rather large witch tip off right there.”

“A witch would be the easiest to banish of our options.  I’m sorry to say witches aren’t on the scoreboard at the moment.”  Deaton stands in front of Stiles and flips through the pages to the back.  “Here we are, Demon reproduction through body, not soul.  They are rare, a physically born demon.  Even harder to make because a demon does not possess a heart, a necessity to be able to carry their young and keep it alive, which is why when a demon sees the opportunity to impregnate a powerful surrogate, they will not hesitate.”

“I’ve never heard of a demon being born.”  Stiles takes the book back.  He sits at the desk when standing is a bit much and skims the chapter on reproduction.  His knee bounces up and down. “I bet you’re glad you made me take Latin, huh?”

“My boy, I’m glad for a lot of things, but right now we need to put the pieces together and find the demon’s name that spelled you.”

“Hey, I know this part.”  Scott beams from the other side of the room.  “Find a demon’s name and you can own them.  I saw it on some show.”

Deaton sighs.  “Not own, I’m afraid.  Makes them easier to find, easier to sense, nevertheless they will still be hard to get rid of.”

Stiles stops on the next page.  A circle takes up the center of the page and at six points around the circle is what looks to be six tiny babies.  In the middle is a drawing of a wolf, howling at the moon.  Stiles reads the words scrawled below the picture, “Born is the one under the sixth full moon of the new year.  The sixth child of the sixth leader will be bound to the hounds, a new servant of the King and a leader by right.  The child will bring destruction and blood upon the land for it is power and it will rule them all.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”  Scott puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  “We really need to talk to Derek.”

“We really need to have a look at the child, Stiles.”  Deaton shuts the book on the desk.  “If a demon thinks the child you’ll bear is theirs, then we need to make sure you are in top physical form.  Because the demon will come to collect, and while it might not be able to hurt you now, it will be able to hurt everyone around you to get what it wants.  And you need to be ready to defend what's yours.”

“The baby?”

Deaton shakes his head.  “Not just the child.  It will want to be near its surrogate, be there for everything, as close as it can get to carrying the child itself.  It will form a bond, even from afar, and if you give it any reason to challenge you for let’s say, parental rights, it will be war.”

***

Derek hears Stiles’ jeep pull into the yard; a gentle yet powerful purr of a brand new engine Derek got him for his birthday.  He drops his hammer, his heart racing, and goes in search of Jackson.  There’s no way he can face Stiles, the man he confessed to, the one he left behind because it was safer—but for who?

Derek finds the sweaty blond drilling a cabinet door into place in the kitchen.  Jackson stops what he’s doing; the drill poised but turned off for a second.  It’s the first time Derek let any of them back into the house, and he only allowed Jackson because sometimes he’s good for being quiet.  But Jackson’s eyes speak volumes even if he mouth doesn’t move.  He knows what Derek is about to say.  He doesn’t approve.

“I don’t want him in this house.  I can’t deal with it.  Go.  Now.” Derek grounds his teeth together.

Jackson wipes the sweat from his brow, his shoulders slumping forward. “You’re making a mistake.”

“I said now!”  Derek pulls Jackson up by the collar of his shirt until he’s standing, adrenaline forcing him to manhandle the younger wolf into submission.  He pushes him through the archway and watches him catch himself before he falls.  

Jackson looks over his shoulder, disbelieving and pained.  “Derek, don’t do this…”

“It’s better for everyone,” he growls through his teeth.  “Make him go away.”

Jackson shudders at the command, his need to please his alpha overwhelms him.  He rushes to the front door but it’s no use.  Stiles is the most fearless human ever when it comes to werewolves.  In fact, he’s so undeterred on his mission to confront Derek that Jackson bows out of his alpha’s obedience and let’s Stiles get out of the jeep.

Derek feels Stiles reach the porch.  His light, precise steps can be heard over the boards to the front door like aftershocks from an earthquake.  The front door opens with a creak.  The summer breeze catches Derek by the throat.  It carries Stiles’ scent through the air.  Brings Derek to his knees. A whimper to his mouth.  He feels Jackson’s guilt and tension, a direct command ignored. 

Derek looks up to find Stiles standing there and his mind whirls, takes him back to that night.  The moon fat and dripping with magic at his back, searing his skin with centuries of heat and passion.

Drums pound in his ears.  Stiles’ wide whiskey brown eyes full to the brim with terror.  The way his wrists feel as they strain to be free of Derek’s grasp and Derek can’t stop.  He screams inside, begs for it all to stop, but something holds power over him, someone else inside him.

But someone else also yanks him back, tied to him in a way that should they die, Derek’s heart would be severed from his body and the world would never know love again.

“Derek!”  Stiles shakes him out of his panic attack.  “Derek…”

Derek blinks several times before his house makes sense, the smell of that foreign, spicy fire leaves his nose and the drums recede.  He looks down at where Stiles is gripping his forearms.  Looks up to find those brown eyes no longer fearful but concerned.  Very concerned.  In this light, Stiles’ eyes hold power, lit up from the inside with flecks of amber and gold so brilliant they can’t be real.

Derek drags in Stiles’ scent while staring into his eyes.  For a second the world fades and he is home, the contact of their hands and arms bind them together and never will they part.  Minutes later Derek realizes Stiles is counting down, his voice low and steady as if when he gets to one this nightmare will be over.

Because Stiles fixes things, makes the bad stuff go away or at least hides it where Derek can’t see.  He’s more than human.  He’s better than any wolf.  He’s strong and resilient and sometimes fumbles under pressure, but his heart drives him to overcome anything, especially for those he loves.  Derek can see what he lost in between two beats of Stiles’ heart.  He misses the boy who refused to let him go, always at side, taking his hand to lead him home.

Stiles' lips move, pink and full, words spilling out that Derek can’t hear.  He focuses on Stiles’ tongue as it darts out then retreats into his mouth.  He looks back up into Stiles’ eyes, wondering if he could have ever fully appreciated him for all the wonderful things he is, because every day brought a new facet to Stiles’ beauty, his love, his ability to live.

“Derek, I need you to say something to let me know you can hear me.”

With deep breaths, Derek learns how to hear again. Each syllable from Stiles’ voice music to his ears, like warm honey on his skin.

He presses his fingers deep into Stiles’ arms.  No matter how badly he’d fucked up, he can't let Stiles walk away.  He is the only thing Derek has left to anchor him.  Without  Stiles… Derek can't do this alone again. “Stiles…”

“Well at least you know who I am still.  I was beginning to worry, what with the fact that you’ve completely cut yourself off from your mate and refuse to see me.  I’m so glad you’re still alive.  Then again, I probably would have felt you die, right?  Because I sure have been feeling like crap lately, and I’m starting think that might be partly your fault.”  Stiles searches Derek’s eyes.  The heartbreak in them is evident as he pulls his hands away and awkwardly gets to his feet.

“No.”  Derek reaches out and stumbles forward.  He yanks gently on Stiles’ fingers, squeezing them together in his palm.  “Please don’t go.”

Wind pushes through the open windows, heavy rain on the way. It clings to Stiles, a storm of uncertainty brewing.  He smells so good yet… different.  Derek stands from the floor.  He pulls Stiles to him and Stiles follows, his eyes saying he knows the answer but he’s waiting for Derek to catch on.  Derek smells the fear taint Stiles’ new scent, hears his heart kick up a notch. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Derek pleads.  “I won’t…hurt you again.”

Stiles shakes his head.  “I’m not afraid of you, Der.”

He’s telling the truth.  He’s also hiding something.  He’s still locking eyes with Derek, shoulders back and standing tall, searching for answers Derek doesn’t even have the questions to. Derek cocks his head, studying Stiles from head to toe.  He inhales again just to be sure and glares at Stiles.  “What is that smell, Stiles?  You… You don’t smell the same.”

Derek crowds Stiles into the living room and walks him back until Stiles has to sit on the couch.  Stiles’ face gives nothing away.  He schools his eyes, and it’s scary because Stiles can’t keep a straight face to save his life.  Yet now he can.  And he smells like something broken but beautiful and good.  Stiles smells so good Derek forgets Jackson is standing there and pushes Stiles thighs open as he moves to kneel between them.

“Apparently it has a smell,” Stiles begins.  He watches Derek intently, tense and beguiled by the fantasy between his legs.

“It?”  Derek rumbles, his nose running up the inside of Stiles’ thigh.  He’s lost all control.  His initial fear of hurting Stiles is gone.  He’s not really sure what he’s doing, but Derek is certain he can’t stop smelling his mate.

Fingers thread through his hair and Derek shivers.  He breathes in deep against Stiles’ chest while clinging to his t-shirt.

“Derek, look at me.”  Derek looks up to find Stiles’ tear filled eyes.  “It’s not your fault.  What happened to us that night, we were victims.  Both of us.”

“No.” Derek slips back onto his heels.  He recoils from Stiles touch when what he wants is to sniff him all day. 

“Stop!”  Stiles forcefully pulls Derek back towards the couch.  “You’re going to listen to me.  We’re done running away from shit to make ourselves feel crappier.  If we’re going to make this work, you and I need to act like adults. starting now.  _Especially_ now.”

If we’re going to make this work… No begging for forgiveness.  No explanations.  Stiles is still in this.  He’s not leaving him alone again.  The wolf in Derek howls with joy, nearly dies of happiness.  But Derek is still unsure, still hesitant to accept he’s worthy.  From the circle of Stiles’ arms, Derek sags against his mate and closes his eyes.  “I hurt you.”

“No, the demon possessing Seraphine did.  We were both stuck and there was nothing either of us could have done.  I want to hear you say it, Derek.  I need to know that you’re going to be there for me as much I have been there for you.  Because what I have to say next is going to change everything, and I don’t want to do it alone.”  Stiles lifts Derek’s face with hands.  “Say it.”

The fire that took his family.  A demon now driving alphas to abuse their mates.  The look of pain on Stiles’ face.  All of it had to be his fault, didn’t it?

“Say it,” Stiles commands loud enough that Jackson shuts himself out on the porch to hide.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Derek whispers into Stiles’ shirt.  Liar.  He did.  He knows he did.

“That was bullshit.  I want to hear it again, louder this time.”

“It’s not my fault,” Derek hisses, bowing his head to push into Stiles's chest.  His lungs constrict.  A pain in his heart cracks his emotions wide open.  It can’t be true.

“Say it to my face.  Say you’ll be by my side because you want to and not because you’re being forced to by the moon or by Fate.  Say you want this because I have never wanted anything more in my life, Derek.  Say it isn't your fault because that's the truth.”

Derek lifts his eyes to see Stiles, his hands scrabbling to find Stiles’ shoulders.  “I want you.  I would never hurt you.”

Tears run down Stiles’ face.  “You didn't hurt me physically.  You did hurt me by not being there after.  I woke up without you.  I had to face the hardest news of my life and you weren’t there, Derek.  I had to go to Deaton’s and lie there and wonder if this how it ends for us, because you should have been there.”

“I’m so sorry, Stiles.  I didn’t know what to do.  I thought I would hurt you again.”  Derek brings his arms around Stiles’ waist as he sinks to the ground again.  “I won’t leave.  I’ll never abandon you.”

It hurts to breathe.  Derek clings to Stiles like he’ll float away.  He can’t stop smelling, sobbing.  He can’t stop this, despite his best efforts to give Stiles a better life.  A life without him in it.

“Promise?”

“Yes,” Derek whispers.  And that’s the truth.  For once, he has to let someone in all the way.  He has to be the person Stiles deserves, a leader and an honest man.

“Good.”  Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair.  “Because I have to tell you something and I need to know you’re not gonna freak out.  It’s a pretty done deal, no take backs, so I really need you this time, Derek.”

Nodding slowly, Derek takes Stiles’ hands.  “I’m here, Stiles.  Whatever it is.”

Closing his eyes for a second, Stiles squeezes Derek’s hands back.  “I smell different?”

“Yeah, like you, but… something else.”

“You don’t notice anything more?”

“You feel like…power.”

“It’s a protective barrier that amplifies my magic because of the spell.”

Derek grimaces and looks away.  “I’m sorry, Stiles.  I wish I could make it go away.  Deaton was working on something to—”

“Derek, there isn’t a cure for what’s wrong with me.  And truthfully, it isn't wrong so much as it is life altering.  It’s a good…good thing, I think.”

“What did that spell do to you, Stiles?”

Stiles rubs his lips together, afraid not of Derek but of what he’s hiding.  “I’m…I’m pregnant, Derek.”

A chuff of air rises up Derek’s throat as a choked laugh.  “What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“That’s not possible.”  Derek releases Stiles and shakes his head.  “Men don’t get pregnant.”

“This one did.”  Stiles glares at Derek.  He sucks in air, lip quivering up a taste of his last defense, that of a cornered animal.  “And I swear to god if you run away from me I will never talk to you again.  Do you hear me, Derek?  If you leave me alone…”

Derek blinks once and finds Stiles getting to his feet, a wince across his face, but he’s still mad as hell.  “Stiles, take it easy.”

“Take it easy?  Are you not listening to me, Derek?  I’m pregnant!  Are you processing that part?”

Pregnant... Stiles was serious.  No way.  This wasn’t happening.  Shock set in and Derek sat in an old armchair.  It groaned under his weight as he groaned from the weight of the bomb Stiles had just dropped.  He stares at Stiles approaching him.  The room spins, yet Stiles’ scent anchors him like always, heavy and full with every intake of air.

“Derek, this is real.  I need you to breathe and stay with me.”

Derek has no idea he's panicking until Stiles gently pushes Derek’s head between his knees and urges him to take deep breathes.  “A baby?” he gasps.

“Yes, a baby.  _Our_ baby.”

Derek shakes his head.  The blood rushes to his face as he sits up too quickly and he wants to puke.  Most alphas would rejoice at the news they were to be a father.  Long ago, Derek would have wanted the same, a family, a child to carry on his blood.  But Derek had learned from his past that the more people you loved, the harder it was when they were ripped away from you.  A child?  His child?  He doesn't know if he can handle that kind of love on top of what he feels for Stiles.

He doesn't deserve such a gift.  Hell, he doesn't even deserve Stiles after what he’s done to him, and yet here his mate is, on his knees, in pain, getting Derek to love him.  Stiles looks at him and Derek sees the child they could have, one with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair.  A little one to run up and down the staircase as Derek and his siblings had when they were younger.  Tiny hands covered in dirt and jelly, grasping for Derek to hold them.  The soft sound of their breathing as he tucks them into bed, bending over their perfect form to kiss goodnight.

“Stiles,” he croaks.

“I know.”  Stiles puts their foreheads together and cups his jaw.  “Oh don't I know. About an hour ago I was exactly where you are.  It just hits you.”

“Forgive me,” Derek begs as he sinks to his knees and gathers Stiles to him gently.  “I thought I was protecting you.  If it meant giving you up…”

“You can’t give me up if I don’t give you permission,” Stiles murmurs.  For a second, Stiles’ eyes are angry, but soon it’s gone and something is there Derek has seen before from the annoying teenager he watched grow into this man.  The lonely boy on the other side of the looking glass, a knife deep ache to belong to someone, a place to fit.  There’s determination, something Stiles has perfected over the years.  He looks straight through Derek, wills him to believe there is no turning back.

Derek twines his fingers with Stiles’.  Every part of them fits together.  No lies or fear.  Only hope.  And Derek seizes the moment, driven by the need to make Stiles feel him, make him know how he yearns for Stiles, how Stiles affects him in a way nobody else but the two of them could possibly understand.

And now the scent of Stiles' blended smell made sense.  It was the smell of home, of family, of pack.  An aroma Derek had almost forgotten, or rather trained himself to ignore for so long it was new again.  A tiny life inside of Stiles that the two of them made, by spell or by miracle, Derek would still love this baby with everything he had to give.

“I want you.”  Derek kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth.  “I want this.”  He slowly pushes his hand under Stiles’ shirt, placing his palm over the heat of Stiles’ flat stomach.

Stiles inhales sharply, mouth open and eyes closed.  He shivers in Derek’s embrace and pushes closer to the hand touching him. His arousal drowns them both. “Do you feel that?”

How could Derek not?  A new life for the pack, for his family, recognized his touch as safe, as trusted.  “Mine,” Derek growls.  He lowers his lips to Stiles’ neck.  “Both of you are mine.”

Salty tears greet his tongue as Derek kisses Stiles’ chin, his cheeks.  Although his arousal fills the air, Derek still has enough control to know better than to try anything seriously physical with Stiles.  When the time came Derek would make sure he had a replacement plan lined up to repeat their first time.  And it would be sweet and slow, private and intimate.  Planned and undisturbed by anything or anyone.

Derek would make this better.

He would protect Stiles and his child from anything.

Especially demons.  Because Stiles had definitely said demon.

***

Stiles accepts the open door, walking through it with Derek at his back.  They come into Alan's living room, the rest of the pack already there, and Stiles isn't all that surprised to see Beth seated on one of the couches with three betas at her back.  In fact, he rather welcomes her presence and the fact they wish to provide help to their allies and as friends.

His dad finally comes through the door behind them with Danny in tow.  The young deputy hangs his hat on the stand and they all file into the open space.  

"Tomorrow night we do the checkup," Stiles says to Alan and the druid nods in relief.  "Tonight we talk demons and how to keep this child safe."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Stiles.  And with Beth's connections we were able to bring in outside help, track someone down that would put us all at ease if they were here to watch over you.  I hope you don't mind."

Stiles frowns and looks to Derek.  Derek sniffs deeply and glares towards the dining room.  He holds Stiles in his arms and tracks the movements of a tiny old woman who hobbles into the room with the help of a young woman.

Her white hair is pulled up with a shell comb that reminds Stiles of the one his grandma used to wear.  Her dark eyes are magnified by thick glasses and the cane she uses is a twisted, knobby piece of wood with runes carved all over it.  Her surprising  reveal is nothing compared to the look on his dad's face.  One of utter disbelief.

"Babcia?"  John sits next to Beth and eyes the tiny woman with wide eyes.

The old woman clucks her tongue.  "This my idiot grandson I tell you about, Rota.  No wonder my baby in trouble.  You lazy."  She clacks her cane near John's ankles and he scoots away before she continues in her thick Polish accent. "No tell me about my baby.  Say I crazy."

"Babcia, stop!"  John jumps away from her swinging cane.  "This isn't happening to me.  You're dead!"

"Hey!"  Stiles steps forward and points at the woman.  "No hitting my dad.  That's enough... you... you tiny not so dead lady." 

Rota is maybe in her teens and she giggles easily, hiding her laugh behind her hand when the tiny woman scowls at her.  "Sorry."

"I make you sorry."  The woman harrumphs and hobbles closer.  She fixes her glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose.  She's in front of him before Stiles can blink and her hand is snatching up his shirt from his stomach.  "Too skinny.  You feed him?"  She glares at Stiles' dad.

Derek takes Stiles' shirt hem away from the woman and growls.  "Alan, who the hell is this?"

The woman raises her cane and bares her teeth.  "I am his Babcia!"

"His what?"

"She's his..."  John gapes.

Alan groans.  "Stiles, this is Alenka Stilinkski, your great grandmother and world renowned doula to the supernatural.  And this is Dorota, your distant cousin, Alenka's pupil."

"And you my baby.": She attaches herself to Stiles like an ancient koala.  "Skinny but mine."

Derek is not taking well to that.  He yanks Stiles away and pushes her cane out of his face.  "I think you misunderstood, because Stiles. Is. Mine."

Stiles looks between them, then to his father, and then to Deaton.  "So... Demons?"

"Think we found it already."  Derek growls at Alenka and she in turn 

 


	5. Come As You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get their life as a mated couple on track before they commit to fighting an invisible war, but Stiles didn't agree not to fight Derek's idea of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for an epically long fic? Because that seems to be the theme here and I'm happy to provide. This chapter was fun to write. We needed a little fluffy lovin' to balance out all that intense business going on, am I right? 
> 
> As usual thanks for reading and navigating this story with me. You guys rock.
> 
> *Chapter title inspired by Nirvana's "Come As You Are"

It’s safe to say Stiles is uncomfortable.  How could he not be with his great grandmother giving him that coke bottle glare from across the way?  She’s frail and almost miniature, the size of a hunchbacked eight year old, and she probably was around to witness Adam and Eve before the evil serpent came along with his forbidden fruit.

 Her feet barely reach the floor from her perch on the couch, and he can see, even though he hasn’t touched and has no plans of doing so, that her hair is coarse like a scouring pad Stiles uses when his dad burns the crap out of the bottom of a pan.

She’s just… Alenka Stilinski is terrifying.  A troll.  A scary, hug loving little troll with a cane she most definitely plans to put up Derek’s ass before this nightmare is over.  And Derek, as Stiles looks over, is not going down without a fight.  Stiles is pretty sure that gnarled up cane of hers is going to meet a fiery end, but who will be the victor is anyone’s guess at this point.  Somewhere in his head he hears the faint echo of ‘ _Finish Him’_ , and picturing Derek’s eyebrows in _Mortal Kombat_ makes him clear his throat.

Thank fuck for Beth.  The woman is more than a pretty face with a daddy pleasing complex.  As Stiles has learned, despite his predetermined assumptions about Beth, she is in fact the next in line as Alpha.  And that was the reason her father wanted an equal mate for his daughter—to continue to make the pack grow, be protected, to leave his strong daughter with someone who could go toe to toe with her.  In short, Beth is not some lash batting beta looking to be a kept woman, barefoot and pregnant.

And Stiles is just happy Beth isn’t settling for her ex fiancé, the previously closeted one.  Or  playing house with Derek Hale, Alpha of Beacon Hills and baby daddy of their recently discovered offspring.  Yeah… No way was that’ pretending to be mates’ shit happening under Stiles’ watch again. _No offense, Beth._

“Relax,” Derek hisses in his ear and bruises his fingers in a punishing display of affection.

“ _You_ relax.  And ouch?”  Stiles takes his fingers back from Alpha Hulk.

Derek winces.  “Sorry…”

Stiles raises a brow.  “And now he knows how to apologize, ladies and gentlemen.  I think we can all quit while we’re ahead.  Balance must have been restored to the universe when we weren’t looking.”

Everyone attempts not to laugh, but Beth lets hers free—the sound like a wind chime made of razor sharp knives, beautiful and petrifying now that Stiles has the whole picture to work with.  “While I wish that were true, I believe we all came here to talk about demons?”  And true to form, Beth crosses her ankles like a lady and smiles sweetly.  “And to give our congratulations now that you’re… awake.”

Alenka looks Beth up and down.  “What would you know of demon, wolf?  And why you look at him like that?”  The cane slides over the floor, inching towards Beth with malice.

John looks as though he’s about to intervene, or possibly throw up, but Beth is not some delicate flower.  Nope, Martha Stewart’s lovechild had left the building and Beth turned gold eyes down on the little Polish doula.  “I know plenty about demons, but I don’t pretend to be an expert.  What I am an expert on is manners, and pointing out where certain people lack with them.  Furthermore, I think it’d be in your best interest as family, by Stiles’ extension part of Alpha Hale’s pack, to show a little more respect to your grandson’s ally.  Because if you are a specialist in our world then you’ll be all too familiar with pack politics, and what we _wolves_ may see as inappropriate, if not _threatening_ behavior.”

Alenka grunted.  She nodded slowly, beady eyes narrowed.  “You have made your point.”

“Good.  I’m so glad.”  Beth flashed a megawatt smile.  “Now back to business.  My father sends his best, and as I’m sure you understand he couldn’t leave the territory for longer than absolutely necessary.  Alpha Hale, my father sends his congratulations to you and your mate, and formally offers any and all resources our pack has to aid you.”

“I’ll call him tonight.  He has gone above and beyond to protect us.” Derek nods once.

“He’ll like to hear from you.”  Beth reclines subtly against the sofa and smiles.  “We’ve tried to keep our numbers to a minimum as not to infringe on your pack, and not call attention to you and yours.  Good news is your territory is much smaller than ours, so we’ve been able to keep a close eye on the perimeter and monitor all traffic in and out of town.”

Scott perks up.  “Yeah, Stiles, you wouldn’t believe the people coming around to try and visit you the past few weeks.  We’ve had to turn them down or tell them to wait it out at the motel the next town over.”

Stiles made a face.  “What are you talking about?  What people?”

Derek growled next to him.  “Yeah, Scott, _what_ _people_?”

Deaton calmly took his seat at the head of the room.  “People Stiles has influenced over the years.  Those that appreciate his worth and have waited a long time to return the favor he’s done them.”  Alan gave Stiles a fond smile.  “Marina called about you a few days ago.  Apparently word of your pregnancy has spread faster than I thought.  She and her husband arrived earlier today.  They’re staying at the Regency, of course.  They have the best pool.”

Stiles’ grin caught him off guard.  Marina, a mermaid he’d helped through childbirth, always reminded him of why he was glad he was a man, and yet he’d somehow found himself in her position and he kind of missed her.  He’d spent three long and wonderful weeks with the merpeople in the summer after his sophomore year, and he often wondered what little Mishell was up to now that she was almost old enough to get her first fins.

Derek was staring at him like he’d lost his mind.  “Why are you grinning like that?  Who the hell is Marina?”

“A mermaid,” Stiles sighs.  “Remember?”

“The pool…”  Derek groaned.  “Deaton, tell me there aren’t a horde of mythical creatures staked out at the Regency, waiting to get an autograph from Stiles.”

“Not an autograph.  Most of them will already have those from prior conventions.”  Deaton’s mouth ticked up at the corners.  “I figured Beth and her pack would be busy manning the castle walls.  And our pack will be concerned with Stiles’ day to day affairs.  Alenka and Dorota will be teaching Stiles new tricks and worshipping your unborn child to the best of their magical extents.  So that leaves a few openings for running Stiles’ business, feeding the masses, putting the finishing touches on the new pack house, and getting ready to welcome the baby into your lives. You are most welcome for my profound management skills, a bonus to my advising abilities.”

Stiles is used to Derek dropping an Alpha bomb when someone undermines his authority, especially Deaton, who Stiles hasn’t seen this straightforward, in well, forever actually.  What shocks Stiles more is the deep breath Derek takes, the way he holds his scary face in to swallow his wolf, and then exhales as if the weight of the world has just been released from his body.

“Thank you. “  Derek surprises them all.  He leans back, puts his arm around Stiles and it _belongs_ there.  Stiles embraces the touch with such ease he only can melt into Derek, telling himself to remind Derek of his feelings on the matter later, because they’re going to talk.  They _will_ discuss this before Derek runs away with his tail between his legs again. 

Whatever nausea Stiles had been experiencing from the ride over subsided.  Derek glances over at Stiles, gaze raw and seeking for a split second, a look only for Stiles, to show his mate how serious this had become that he was conceding to everything for Stiles’ sake.  To protect him.

Stiles lifts his right hand near his shoulder and splays his fingers.  Derek’s thread with his until they can squeeze their hands together.  Already Derek is focused back on Deaton, but everything else feels right.  So very right.  And Derek has settled along his side like someone gave him wolfy muscle relaxants, practically purring as his fingers play over Stiles’.

“Alan, if you wouldn’t mind telling us what you know about the demon.”  Derek pins him with an irritable gaze.  So polite yet not, and Stiles chances a glance at Scott to see if they’re all witnessing this too.  Scott shrugs and gives him a crooked grin as if to say, ‘ _I have no idea but I like it_.’

Stiles ducks his head, his own smile twisting his lips until he’s able to give Deaton his attention.

“Actually, that’s why Alenka is here.  She’s not in the field of demonology, but her expertise is vast in the fertility world.  As such, naturally she’s aware of fertility spells and what brand of Supernaturals use them and why.”

“ _Ah_.”  Lydia bobs her head suddenly.  “You don’t say.  That’s just so convenient, Alan.”

“Lydia,” Stiles hisses.

She shoots him a sharp glower.  _Don’t mess with the bitch face when I’m on to something._   Stiles sinks back into Derek’s side, aching to look into his eyes and understand why him.  “We have a necklace that was braided with dark magic and bound in clear quartz.  Stiles was given the necklace as a gift from Seraphine because the demon _inside of her_ needed a powerful host to carry what it thinks is it’s baby.  And now Stiles is most _definitely_ pregnant.”  She gestures with a flick of her slender fingers at Stiles.  “That said: the demon that body snatched Seraphine, leaving her hollow and in two pieces is on the loose.  So isn’t it rather coincidental a demon twisted Stiles’ plumbing to get its baby and here sits his long lost _doula_ from the old country?  I mean, come on, my fellow ladies and intelligents, think about it.  A doula?  New Age births are so 2000.  What’s to say the demon didn’t swipe this bifocal troll from a Polish nursing home and take her for a spin?”

“That’s my great grandmother, not a demon Ferrari.” Stiles sputters, lips smacking shut as he digs his fingers into Derek.  He looks Alenka over carefully, then gapes at Lydia, and then feels the hackles of every werewolf in the room raise the hair on his body.

Derek’s vicious snarl snaps Stiles out of Lydia’s World of Profound and Plausible Plot Twists.  His mate is halfway to standing from his seat, shadow blocking out Alenka’s tiny person.  “Derek!”  The Alpha swivels at the sound of Stiles’ voice, his warm hands on Derek’s forearm.  “Hey, bud,” Stiles tries.  “You wanna sit back down with me before you turn my g-ma into Alpo?  Besides, I’m cold now.  I was warm, you know, like right here… with you right there.”  Stiles holds Derek’s gaze as he sits and tugs on Derek’s hand, hoping to defuse his sexy Cujo with his best needy mate act.

The wolfish red of Derek’s eyes ebbs to their normal greenish blue.  His nostrils flare.  His neck flushes red with embarrassment as he humors Stiles in exactly the right way.  Well, it’s not like he really wants to lose any Alpha points by being whipped, but their kind see being mated and pregnant as a time to indulge said mate.  To care for them.  It’s instinct and Derek Hale is no exception to nature.

Doesn’t mean Stiles can talk Derek out of starting World War Alenka altogether, and Lydia’s logical conclusion doesn’t really help the doula’s case, however Stiles has always been an evidence required sort of person and until he can study the crone in front of him, he can’t let Derek kill her.  He will not start his first week as a conscious daddy to be by wiping the floor with his great grandmother in cold blood. 

Nope.  No thanks.

Not to mention he wants the time to prepare himself in case his great grandmother _isn’t_ really home in her head and a demon is using her body as a puppet.  He wraps an arm around Derek’s waist, watching her watch him back.

“I’m no demon.”  She adjusts her glasses and blinks owlishly at him.

“I’ll just bet,” Derek sneers.  He takes a deep inhale.  “Even though I don’t smell smoke, but that could be a trick.”

“I don’t either,” Stiles agrees.  “Let’s just all keep our cool here, huh?”

“That’s wonderful, Der.  I’m glad you’re a walking talking smoke alarm now, but we really need to get along with it.”  Lydia checks her phone.  “I’ve got court in the morning, but I’m not bailing on you two lovebirds here so that you can be without the brains of this operation.”

Derek growled low in his throat.  “Yeah? Well I’ve got a child growing in my mate’s womb, you know Stiles, who previously had no womb?   So excuse the _fuck_ out of me for asking you to be here.”

 _Whoa_ … And in front of another pack and Stiles’ extended and strange new family?  Lydia had to be near out of her mind, feeling the effects of the last few weeks just like the rest of their pack even though she was pretty much human.  They’d all been snippy since he’d woken up, moping around.  Everyone looked slightly malnourished and haggard, like for every minute Stiles had been asleep, they’d been awake.  Lydia wasn’t exempt from the vibe and her well groomed façade was cracking.  Poor thing.

“Easy there, big guy.”  Stiles pats Derek’s arm after scoping out Beth’s crew to make sure pack lines hadn’t been breached.  “It’s just, Lydia. And Lydia is just emotionally exhausted and very sorry for her well-meant outburst, aren’t you, Lydia?”

Lydia huffs at Alenka in a moment of ‘damn, I almost had the answer’ defeat.  She hesitates to look at Derek, keeping her eyes level with his nose because she hasn’t lost all of her mind completely to challenge Derek’s authority head on.  “Yeah, Der, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it like that…”  She turns away from her Alpha and folds her hands in her lap.  “Alan, can we just get on with it?”

“Alenka?”

“As I say, I am no demon, yet I do know of them.  I know plenty about demons who take babies.”  Alenka puts a hand on Dorota’s arm and speaks quietly to her in Polish.  Dorota nods.  She looks around the room and scoots closer to her tiny grandmother as if Alenka will protect her.

“She would like me to translate.  My English is better.”

Derek nods.

“Um…”  Dorota swallows and flicks wide brown eyes to Stiles.  Stiles smiles his encouragement.  She’s just a kid after all.  “There is a story that goes back to the birth of Christ.”  She listens to Alenka’s whispers as she stops.  “But the lore has been scattered and twisted by all nationalities and religions.  Her name was Lillith.”

“Wait, like Lillith as in Adam’s first wife?”  Allison pipes up.  Everyone looks at her.  “What? I went to Jewish Summer Camp for a week every summer with my cousin in elementary.”

Even Scott rolls his eyes at that one, but he does it with a smile.  Allison responds with sexy grin, practically broadcasting her Scott fetish for the world to hear.  Guess that means their back on again, Stiles thinks.  He gestures for Dorota to continue, biting back a smile.

Dorota’s brows knit together.  She blinks and looks to Alenka, who shakes her head.  “Some Jewish, uh how you say?”  Alenka whispers.  “Influence to the story?  So yes, what you say is what most know.”

“See?”  Allison harrumphs.  “I know stuff.”

“That’s nice.”  Scott puts an arm around her shoulders.  “So Lillith?”

“She is a deity for good _and_ for bad in most religions.  A goddess of death and the underworld.  People would find her scary, but death and the afterlife is a natural thing.  It is the story of what happened after she left Adam that started it all.”  Dorota nods at Alenka’s Polish.  “She was refused …” She blushes.  “Adam refused her request to, uh, be on top?”

Stiles sniffs a laugh. She said top like a twelve year old boy would say penis and then giggle afterward. He definitely sees some of himself in Dorota, especially their shared awkwardness with all things sex.  And she also had that Stilinksi look going on, the wide blinking eyes and the ever present full body flush that crept over their skin like a rash at the worst of times.

“He wouldn’t let her ride him because he was a macho dick, so she got sick of sexual monotony and misogyny and left him.”  Lydia’s lips curl into a smile that would please feminists everywhere.  “Good for her.”

“No, not good!”  Alenka points her stick at Lydia.  “King of all demons snatch her up and make her his wife instead.”

“Must of have been hot then.  I mean, we’re talking Satan here, right?  And he’s supposedly pretty powerful, so Lillith must have been bangin’ if he wanted her or maybe he just really hated Adam.  Bros before forbidden fruit and all that.”  Scott nods at Allison like she’s going to agree with him.  She doesn’t.  Imagine that.  She pushes his arm away with a muffled “ _pig_ ” under her breath.

Off again they go.  Stiles sighs.

“King of Demon strip her of goddess and make her demon like him.”  Alenka practically cries.  Apparently they’re not taking this seriously enough, and even though Stiles isn’t really fond of Alenka yet, he doesn’t want her to have a coronary in Deaton’s living room.

“Okay.”  He puts his hands up to calm her.  “Not good.  Satan made her evil.”

Alenka nods sharply and adjusts her skirt so that it covers the tops of her compression knee highs.  “Evil,” she whispers before slapping Dorota with a wave of Polish.

“She says Lillith and the King made children, demons, and many of them.  They spread around the world, each of them with different skills and thirsts.  Mostly to gain power from strong people, to crush them and take their happiness because it was their mother’s will and she was angry at being stripped of the goddess. She wanted them to hurt as she did.”

“And the baby snatching?”  Derek ran his hand up and down Stiles’ thigh.

“What brings two people the most joy?”

“Their children,” John whispers and scrubs his face with a hand.

Dorota hums at Alenka’s insistent chatter.  “Baicha says Lillith was defeated before.  Many believe it was angels of the lord that imprisoned her.  Really it was three practitioners—a spark, a witch, and a wolf.  They perform ritual and trap her in the hollow of an ancient tree, then burn the tree to the ground.  But her children were still alive, roaming the earth, and their power was slowly fading.”

“So they had to take power from somewhere?”  Stiles asks curiously.  “Like other powerful beings?”

Alenka nods with a smirk on her face likes she proud he’s unafraid to ask questions.  “Like you.  Like Beth.  To create more powerful beings in their image.”

Beth stares down at Alenka, hesitant at first.  “But because the necklace Stiles made was able to protect me, she went after him because he seemed to be more powerful.”

“Yes.  He is most powerful of all in this room.  Perfect to protect baby from harm, for demon’s purpose.”  Alenka’s eyes harden.  “Demon will try to bond with you, take bits of your power for strength but it cannot kill you.   It wants baby to replenish its family because it is weak and alone, and it has been abandoned.  It wants you to feel the same after baby is born.  It is jealous.”

“That seems like a pretty demonic thing to do.” Stiles bobs his head.  “And how the hell are we going to know who this demon is riding?  Because if I’m tying up loose ends on assumptions here, Seraphine was its last host and she’s…” Stiles glances at Beth to convey his condolences.  She closes her eyes and nods her respect.  “And now that the demon has taken her from us, it will have possessed someone else.”

“Yes,” Alenka whispers.

“How do we protect our baby if we don’t know what we’re looking for?”

Alan smiles.  “While every demon has its own skillset, different Supernaturals do too.  Some collect, some kill, some heal, some watch and protect.   And the demon is one entity in a town full of all sorts of different Supernaturals, and once we establish some order I think you’ll find that we’ll have every one of those skills in our corner.  We will start making a list of what we know and tell our friends to keep an eye out.  No one can completely hide inside their skin.  A demon is no exception.”

***

Stiles makes Derek take him by the shop after the meeting breaks.  He’s starting to feel like the first lady, chauffeured by Derek with at least two other pack members following in the vehicle behind them.   If they all start wearing sunglasses and earpieces, he’s done with this nonsense.  He’ll just hole up in his house and stick chairs under every doorknob he has until they come to their senses.

Laughing to himself for a moment at the thought, he catches Derek frowning at him, which is not unusual, but as their relationship stands, frowns are not a good thing right now.  Derek focuses back on the road in time to gently ease into the narrow parking lot next to Stiles’ shop.  They sit there for a few minutes, silent like they’ve been since about a third of the way through the meeting, and all the way over here.  He just can’t seem to get through to Derek right now without him pulling the pregnant mate card.  Besides, that isn’t what Stiles is worried about, the pregnant thing, because all he really wants is to Derek be in this with him.  He wants Derek.  Everything else is just a bonus.

Derek will a great dad, Stiles has no doubt.  There are moments when Derek thinks no one is watching when he does amazing things and allows a twinge of brightness into his eyes.  He’s a good provider.  He’d do anything for those he loved, selfless yet sometimes not without playing a martyr, but Stiles has always known it was just a cover-up for the puppy dog he really is inside. The alpha who wants a family, to fill the void his deceased loved ones left behind.

What worries him is if Derek really wants this; if he wants to be with Stiles because he really does love him or because he has to according to mated lore.

“What are you thinking right now?”  Stiles stares at the side of his shop out the windshield, gaze trailing over the climbing Ivy that has always blanketed the deep red brick, and then down to the colorful rocks in all shapes in sizes that had become something of a collection; each with different uses and meanings, most of them gifts from friends and regulars. 

Beside him, Derek does the same, leaning back into his seat.  However, he knows Derek sees something different when he looks at the building, a sort of mark on the map that Stiles has done the right thing here, grown their pack and made a name for them whether they wanted to it or not. And where there is usually a hidden pride when Derek comes to his shop, Stiles can only see sadness.

“I’m _so_ _sorry_ , Stiles.”  Derek’s chest clenches as his voice cracks.  He continues to stare, but the corners of his eyes crinkle with emotion.  “I know you believe this isn’t my fault, and somewhere I know it isn’t, I really do, but the more we learn the harder it is for me to keep you safe.  I hate feeling helpless.”

Derek is not the kind of man to admit his feelings, especially the deepest, darkest ones, and especially to Stiles.  Whether it’s because of their newly fledged bond to each other or not, Stiles will take what he can get and hold it close to his heart.  Because he’s not just a pack member and he’s not just some buddy to Derek, he is Derek’s mate.  He is the guy who will give him a child.  He’s the one Derek will confide in, anchor him, and that’s a pretty big drink to swallow.

Nevertheless, Stiles is good at being strong for his pack, bringing a dose of light to the dark when times get rough, and this time will be no different.  With Derek, he makes no concessions for himself.  Stiles takes Derek’s hand, roughly claiming his fingers away from their tight grip on Derek’s thigh.  He smiles, because it’s what he does in the face of fear, and brings their hands up for Derek to see.

“Derek?  I’m kind of like a magical pregnant tank right now, if you didn’t get the memo.  I’m more worried something is gonna happen to you, or to someone else I love.”  Determination brings his brows closer together as he searches Derek’s eyes.  “And when have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?”

Derek sniffs and shakes his head.  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Look, this time is gonna be different.  I’ll make you a promise if you make me one in return.”  Stiles lifts his brows.

“What?”  There’s no bark to the word, just the taste of defeat.

“I promise not to knowingly put myself in harm’s way behind everyone’s back like I usually do.  I promise to be upfront with you, no lies between us, and work together as a team, you and me, to get through this and find a solution. Because, Derek, I know you’re terrified right now and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t too, but if I had to get pregnant by any grouchy, tight lipped, arrogant, and insanely attractive alpha, I would choose you every day of the week.”

Derek’s sharp inhale pulls all of his features in tight.  Stiles has never seen Derek’s human side on the verge of an emotional breakdown and he hopes this isn’t the start of one, but suddenly Derek’s face crumples and he brings their joined hands to his cheek and rubs their fingers against his skin.  He closes his eyes, just breathing out staggered gusts of warm air onto Stiles’ hand.

“Der?”

“Okay,” Derek whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”  Derek opens his eyes.  Stiles has to take a deep breath in the face of the possessiveness staring back at him.  “But what’s the catch?” he asks roughly.

“You have to promise me, Derek, and I’m serious… You have to…”

“Stiles?”

“You have to promise to never leave me alone again.”  Stiles blinks back tears.  The buildup of moisture in his eyes threatens to spill down his cheeks, something he’s attributing to hormones at the moment.  God, he hopes it’s just hormones, but his stomach is in knots and his heart is pounding, and it’s just so… just so real the way he feels for Derek. 

It’s the way he’s always felt for Derek Hale and yet denied himself, that when they come to this moment he just wants to sob.  Stiles fists his free hand in his lap before his fingers open, blooming away from his palm like a spring flower to gesticulate the outpour of his thoughts.

“I can’t wake up and not you have there again.  I don’t care what happened that night.  I don’t care what brought us here.  I just… I need you to be here, okay?  I need you to trust me to take… to take care of you and to be good for you too, alright?”

Derek’s locked in his head for a moment, mulling over every word for what it is and what it isn’t.  That’s the way he processes.  Most people think he’s just an asshole and that he’d rather burn a hole into your head with a glare than answer, but after so many years being a part of Derek’s life, Stiles knows Derek just wants his responses to be right, to be the words people need to hear, and if it’s a simple yes or no, and if it comes out harsher than Derek intended, Stiles knows Derek still listened.  That he cared enough to think it over before he answered, and if he doesn’t, then he’s just giving it extra thought.

Stiles secretly likes when Derek doesn’t answer, extending over the socially acceptable timeframe for a response, because that just means Stiles’ words have made an impact and that Derek cares what he has to say.

Like right now, Derek’s eyes capture the dying light, glowing green and blue from the inside as he looks at Stiles, and Stiles is sure he’s made a decision, one Derek has weighed and tortured himself over and now he’s ready.  “I promise.”

Stiles swallows thickly.  “But have you thought about leaving again?”

Derek hangs his head.

“You promised,” Stiles hedges.  “I’m not going to judge you, whatever you say.  It’s just you and me, and…” Stiles looks around the parking lot over his shoulder.  “And no one is within wolfy distance to hear whatever you’re going to trust me to keep a secret.”

Derek lifts his head, a surprised widening of his eyes before it schools itself with his Hale default setting.  “I tried to the night after you stabilized.  I thought… I thought if I left everything would be better for you.  You wouldn’t have to see me, wouldn’t have to think about what I did every time we ran into each other.  I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want to _be_ that to you.”

“But you didn’t leave town.”

Derek shakes his head stiffly.  “Couldn’t.  I made it as far as the end of the preserve and I just…collapsed.”

“Because you were tied to me, like the bond wouldn’t allow you, or because _you_ really didn’t want to leave?”  Stiles tries his best to calm his heart.  It doesn’t work.  He can hear the achy beat inside his head like an interlude to rejection; the time when he learns whether Derek wants him for him or because he has to.

“I knew before I started running through the woods I would never be able to leave you.”  Derek turns his head and licks his lips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth before he lets it go.  “Seven years, Stiles.  I’ve known how I felt about you for seven fucking years.  And you are…” Derek graces him with the most emotion Stiles has ever seen a Hale muster.  “You are the closest thing to family that I have ever felt.  You made me not want to give up like my mom used to.  You’re always teasing me and you annoy the shit out of me like Laura did and I say I hate it, but god, Stiles, I can’t get enough.  Sometimes, when you’re quiet and you think I’m not watching, and you’ve got your head stuck in a book, fingers skimming over every word because you don’t give up on finding an answer, you remind me of my dad and how I wanted to be just like him.  Never giving up.  Never letting any innocent fade away because the answer wasn’t neatly laid out for us.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand.  He doesn’t say a word.  Not sure he could if he wanted to.

“When you’re playful and you have all that energy, doing nervous things like tapping your knee under the table or running around talking a mile a minute, those moments when you’re about to burst because you need fresh air and space to roam, you remind me of my little cousins, how they wouldn’t settle until they’d spent every last drop of their smiles and passed out on the floor in the mess they made.”

Derek mouths over Stile’s fingers, his grip so gentle.  “You save me time and time again, not because it’s your duty as pack, but because you couldn’t stand the thought of losing me.  You were never out for anything from me.  You never forced me to do something that I didn’t already want to do.  You teach me things every day that maybe I’m not ready to learn, but I learn anyways because I know that if you’re telling me, it must be for my own good, because you care enough to share with me.”

“Derek…”  Stiles is crying now.  How could he not?  It’s the most Derek has ever said to him at once, and while it’s taken seven years to get here, Derek has really thought this out. And every word has grown with age, every situation they’ve found themselves in has helped to cultivate this moment.  And the best part is Derek means every fucking word.

“I’m not finished.”  Derek soothes Stiles with a kiss to their fingers, a simple touch of his lips that has more meaning than anything he could ever say.  “I fuck up on a daily basis.  I’ve done things I’m not proud of.  And I carry a lot of weight on my shoulders, a lot of guilt that I’m supposed to know isn’t mine to hold, but that doesn’t take it away.  I thought I killed my family, Stiles.  I thought I was in love with that… that woman who used me and took everything I had away.  I thought that every day from there on out, anything bad that happened was my fault and mine alone.  And when I took something from you that night, something that was yours to give, something that felt to me worse than death, I wanted to die because I’d done it again. I’d done that to _you_. In my head is what like I’d killed another part of my family and this time no one else was to blame…”

Derek heaves a shuddering breath.  “You are my _family_ ,” Derek rushes.  “You are my _world_ and I have spent the last seven years trying to make sense of why that is and why I’m in love with you.  I’ve tried to blame it on the bond, the tie between us that demands you’re mine, and it took me a long time to realize that I was comparing what I felt for you to that last time I thought I was in love.  I didn’t want to believe it.  I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“I’m not her, Derek,” Stiles whispers.

“No.  You’re not.  You are the exact opposite of her.  You are the real deal and I get it now.  Why you smell like home.  Why I can hear your laugh in my head and it gets me through the worst of days.  Why I care what you like in your coffee and why I love the feel of those beat up t-shirts you wear when I brush by you.  Why I’m proud of everything you’ve ever done to get yourself to this moment.  It’s because _I_ love you, not just the bond, Stiles.  It’s because you remind me of what family should be, what I never thought I’d have again.  It’s because I was wrong when I thought I was in love with Kate Argent, because you are everything she’s not and you are everything I’ve ever needed. And I’m sorry it took me so long to get there.  I’m sorry I let you think you were alone, because you’re not, Stiles.  You will always have me, however you want me.”

His heart hammering in his ears, Stiles breaks their hold on each other much to Derek’s immediate heartbreak; it’s all over his face and what sounds like a gasping sob is sucked down his throat at the loss of Stiles’ hand, his presence.  Stiles wrenches open the car door and rounds the vehicle to the driver’s side, where he yanks the door open and fumbles with Derek’s seatbelt.

“Stiles!”

Stiles hears the click releasing Derek and tugs his mate out of the car.  The minute Derek is on his feet, Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s waist and buries his face in his neck, memorizing the scent of him, so strong and earthy that Stiles wants to roll around on him to soak it all in.  Every part of Stiles’ body  has hurt since he first woke up.  His head throbbed and his limbs ached, but as Derek embraces him back, cementing something they’ve been denying themselves for way too long, every bit of pain is gone.

Derek’s hands creep under the back of Stiles’ shirt, seeking skin to skin contact.  Heat bleeds across Stiles’ skin, urging him to claim Derek’s lips that are already waiting and willing.  Derek’s lips slash across his, gentle and plush, warm and wet from his tongue nervously tracing them minutes ago.  And Stiles breathes his reply into Derek’s wanton mouth, tells him everything he needs to hear.

Their tongues slide against one another; tasting and trusting; cracking the bond wide open, encompassing them until well after the last hint of light slips behind the trees and leaves them to greet a warm, dusky evening full of endless possibilities.

When they pull apart, it’s not completely.  Neither wants the other too far away and their hands are still linked as they stare at each other.

“I want that for the rest of my life,” Stiles says in a voice that’s steady, determined, and unashamed of asking for what’s rightfully his.

“Yeah,” is what Derek says, which makes Stiles smile, because it comes out stunned and breathless, something Stiles would say to Derek and not the other way around.

“Good.  So now that the issue is settled we have work to do.”  Stiles looks around the car.  He hums irritably when he sees the toe of a familiar sneaker giving away its owner around the alley wall.  “And Isaac, we’re gonna need food supplies, so you should get on that.”

Isaac sheepishly steps into sight, his hands clasped in front of him and his cheeks flushed red.  “Sorry,” he mutters.

“And stop eavesdropping on mommy and daddy or we’ll ground you and take away your scarf collection.”  Stiles narrows his eyes but his lips are turned up at the corners.

Isaac bites his lip with a grin and keeps his eyes on the ground.  “Sorry.”

“I’m not even a werewolf and I can smell that lie, jackass.  Now food.  Go.”  Stiles shoos him away with his hands and huffs up at Derek.  “Kids.  What the hell are we supposed to do with them?”

One of Derek’s thick brows lifts.  “I dunno, _mommy_ , you tell me.”

“Cute.”  Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Don’t think for a second I’m gonna let that fly.  We’re going to have to work out names, and I swear to god if anyone thinks I’m gonna be called Pop Pop to your daddy or something equally ridiculous they have another thing coming.”

“Pop Pop?  Really, Stiles?”  Derek pinches the bridge of nose and sighs.

“See?  It’s terrible.  Don’t ever speak of it again.  Now come on, I need another pair of eyes and my entire collection isn’t going to read itself.”

“Don’t you think you need to rest?  It’s been a long day.  We can look through the mail, tidy up a bit because I’m sure Scott has done a _wonderful_ job dusting in your absence,” Derek says, sarcasm dripping fondly with every word, “and then we can go home.”

“Derek Hale, you’ve known me for how long?”

Derek grumbles, “Too long, I’m thinking.”

Stiles shoves him lightly.  “Ass.  You know now that I’ve got a lead I’m going to research everything that I can on the children of Lillith.  Everyone else will be too busy playing house and watching me under a magnifying glass to care, but I’m not sitting on my ass all day because I’m pregnant so we can let the smoke trail go cold.  I want to be ready when that beasty bitch comes calling for our kid.  And I’m gonna give that thing a swift kick in the face for even thinking about it.”

Derek’s shocked expression stops Stiles.  Derek is looking at him like he’s grown a horn between his eyes, which isn’t all that unusual, but Derek’s eyebrows have reached new heights, struggling to greet his hairline, so Stiles puts a hand to hip and lifts a shoulder.  “What?” he snaps.

“Stiles… You were growling.”

“Yeah?  Well demonic baby snatchers kind of piss me off.”

“No.  I mean you just growled…. like a wolf.”

“Oh.”  Stiles clucks his tongue and squints up at Derek.  “You sure?  Maybe you’re just exhausted from uncorking your emotional constipation or something.”

“Pretty sure an alpha knows the sound of a wolf growling.”  Derek touches Stiles cheek experimentally and closes his eyes.  He cocks his head and frowns.  “I swear I heard…”

“Okay, big guy, let’s get you out of this sweltering heat.  Apparently it’s scrambling your brains.”  Stiles kisses Derek’s wrist, surprised at how natural it is to do so, and then takes Derek’s hand and unlocks the side door.

He opens the door.  The smell that washes over him is staggering.  Clove and vanilla.  Bergamot and rose hips.  Old books and that beloved musty scent of his many antiques.  Rust and stale coffee from the cart in the corner.  A warm heady smell from the overhead lights that must have only been turned off hours ago.

“Stiles?”

“Holy shit.”  Stiles sniffs again, taking the time to drag every fragrance deep into his lungs.  “Do you _smell_ that?  Did they forget to open the doors while I was out, or crack a window, or _Jesus_ …”

Derek comes to stand next to him and mirrors his scenting, his nostrils flaring as he takes it all in.  “Smells the same as it always does.  Why?  What’s wrong?”

“No, I mean I smell _all_ of it.”

“Which is good as opposed to smelling nothing?” Derek puts a hand on his shoulder, turning Stiles toward him.  “Are you sure you don’t want to rest back at home?  You’ve had a long day.”

Stiles purses his lips and shakes his head.  “I’m not broken, Derek.  And it does _not_ smell the same.”

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek placates him.  “What do you smell?”

Stiles looks around trying to find the perfect thing to get his argument across.  Derek has a point that the shop smells the same, and it would because he probably is subjected to this intense concoction of aromas every time he walks in here as a werewolf, but Stiles is a little afraid to admit that; that Derek might have been onto something earlier about the growling, even if Stiles hadn’t known he was doing it.  Because if Stiles was a betting man, he’d definitely lay money down that he was smelling… what a wolf smelled.  And that would be kind of freaky, so he just goes with it and prepares to freak out later as per norm.

Stiles points to Fae throne first.  “That.”

“Stiles, you’re scaring me a bit, okay?  Yes, it’s the throne you had to have because that asswipe dealer from Monterey was trying to bid you up just for kicks.  I know all about that.  I was there.  You have your glorious chair and the reigning title of most gullible auction bidder in the state.  Now what does that have to do with the smell?”

Stiles closes his eyes, taking a step toward the iron chair.  “It smells metallic, kind of like the old train car you used to hide in, rusty, but older than that and I’m talking ancient, Der.  It smells thick, if that makes sense, like power and something sweet and a lot.  It smells like a _lot_ a lot.”

“Thick,” Derek repeats as he curls his large hand around the back of Stiles’ neck.  He presses his cheek to Stiles’ ear as he takes deep, rumbling breaths.  “What else, Stiles?”

“A kid sat in it earlier today.  I can smell peanut butter and baby lotion and fabric softener.  And there was a guy with her.  He sat on the edge.”  Stiles swipes his hand over the armrest.  “His jeans were dirty and he had on too much patchouli oil.  Oh my god, Derek, how do I know that.  How do I know what jeans smell like?”

Derek’s gaze is soft as he looks Stiles over.  He swallows audibly and hugs Stiles gently around his waist.  “Because you’re… I mean _we_ are going to be parents to a werewolf,” he says as if Stiles’ smelling ability is a gift from the gods.  In actuality, it means Stiles’ child is not human.  It means they really are adding another wolf to the pack and that’s the reason for Derek’s speechless pride.

“Extrasensory transference,” Stiles murmurs.  “That’s rare for human mates.”

“But it would explain the growling…  The baby sensed your anger.”

Stiles bites his lip and smiles.  “And the smells…  It was comforting to them because it’s familiar to me.”

“It’s a wolf,” Derek murmurs back.  His eyes flash red for a second as he presses his palm to Stiles’ stomach over his shirt.  “Pack.”

“Family,” Stiles adds with a beaming smile.  “And our pup is making it hard for me to focus in here.” He wipes his eyes of tears again.  “And I keep crying.  Isn’t three weeks like way too soon to be crying for no reason?  I’m not really a crier in general, Der,” Stiles complains.

“But you are a human, a pregnant human, carrying my pup.  I’d say you’re handling the emotional side really well.”  Derek thumbs Stiles’ tears away.  “I knew you would anyway.  The moment you told me I just knew you’d be amazing at this and it struck me that next to you, I couldn’t hold a candle to being their favorite.”

“Yeah?”  Stiles lifts his shirt hem to clean his face.

“Yeah.”  Derek gathers him close and rumbles his support into Stile’s neck, sniffing and scenting him until Stiles pushes him back, eyes alert and mouth practically watering.  “What?”

“Curly fries,” Stiles hisses and whips open the shop door for Isaac.  “Give ‘em to me!”

Isaac looks to Derek, startled and overloaded with white paper bags and a cup carrier.  He thrusts the nearest bag at Stiles and back away towards the counter.  “I got you lemonade because soda is bad for the baby. Right?”  He seeks Derek’s approval. His alpha nods and they both gape at Stiles as he plops down on the throne and rips the bag in half.  “Or maybe he doesn’t care.  Can he even hear us?”

Stiles, mouth full of fried potato, looks up with murder in his eyes.  Isaac gasps, holding out the lemonade like a sacrifice to the gods.

“Yeah,” Derek claps Isaac on the back and beams.  “He can hear us.”

***

Derek calls it quits a few hours later.  It’s getting dark, darker than he’s comfortable with and he makes Stiles pack up the books he found interesting to take home.  He tells Lydia goodbye and hangs up the phone, because the poor woman has been juggling court documents while helping Stiles with his journey into all things demon for the better half of the night.

“But it’s just one last paragraph,” Stiles pleads.  “Lyds and I were on to something there for a minute!”

“It’s in hieroglyphics, Stiles.  So unless you and Lydia are fluent in ancient Egyptian, I think I win this round.”  Derek offers Stiles his hand, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

Stiles huffs dramatically.  “Fine.  I’ll go be a normal person for the rest of the night, but don’t think for a second you’re off the hook.  Consider this a bedtime story.”  Stiles drops the heavy tome he’s been reading into his canvas bag.

“Stiles…”

“Just a little bit of light reading, _Daddy_.”

“Whatever you say, _Pop_ _Pop_.”

Stiles swears under his breath.  He glowers at Derek.  “Say it again.  I dare you.”

“Isn’t it ironic that you were the one who came up with it in the first place?”  Derek snorts and hauls Stiles to his feet.  He holds up a hand to Stiles’ oncoming protest.  “No.  We’re done for the night.  You’re going to stop fighting me and listen.  Keep going at this rate and I’ll have to file reading under ‘knowingly putting your life in danger’ because I’m pretty sure exhaustion can be fatal.”

“I’m not exhausted, Derek.  Geesh.”  Stiles lets go of Derek’s hand and his entire body sways.

Derek snatches Stiles upright by his biceps.  It’s his turn to glower.  “Oh yeah?”

“I was just working out the kinks, you know?  A little bit of dancing never hurt anyone.”  Stiles’ heart skips a beat.  Derek shakes his head.

“Liar.  For the rest of the night I’m banishing you to your bed.  No reading.  No video games.  No television. Not even those silly Sudoku books you keep in the bathroom.  Just sleep.”  Derek shoulders the canvas bag so Stiles will go willingly, knowing he can read to his heart’s content after a good night’s sleep.  He then lifts his wobbly mate into his arms as if he weighs nothing and avoids getting hit in the face by Stiles’ flailing arm.

“I am perfectly capable of walking!”

Derek ignores him, calling out for Isaac.  His beta appears at the bottom of the attic stairs with wide, blinking eyes.  “Lock up behind us and follow me home.  Tell the others were on the move.”

“On the move?”  Stiles squeaks.  “I really am the fucking first lady.”

“And when you start taking your safety seriously maybe I’ll lessen your detail, but for now you’re vulnerable and not cooperating.  See section A of the ‘knowingly putting yourself in danger’ clause.”

“I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass.”

“I’ll bite you in the ass if you don’t relax.”  Derek scowls at his mate.

His attempts are futile. Stiles simply beams up at him.  “Is that a promise?”

Derek doesn’t respond.  He focuses on keeping his heartbeat steady and his face controlled of emotion.  Stiles’ immediate arousal hits him like a high speed train, a complex cocktail of spicy sugar that curls up his nose and leaves him half hard.  And as much as he wants to give in, to quip back something equally sexy, Derek isn’t there yet.  He’d groveled for Stiles, sure, back at his half constructed house.  He’d scented and let Stiles kiss him, even kissed back.

But it was hard to allow the arousal to flow between them at will, instead of spontaneously and dealing with the aftermath in baby steps.  It was hard to feel sexy when every time Derek thought of anything outside of kissing Stiles his heart filled with dread.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, fuck did he want it. 

It was that every time he thought of claiming his mate, exploring Stiles’ pliable naked body, that night just came rushing back with a screeching halt. And worse still, they were on their way to Stiles’ house, where Derek knew he’d be expected to sleep next to Stiles.  Where he wanted to sleep because Stiles depended on Derek to be near to relax, and truthfully, Derek needed Stiles close just as much.

He had no idea how he ended up in Stiles’ driveway, hands gripping the steering wheel as Stiles stared at him from the passenger seat.  That terrified him.  He’d lost time.  Lost focus on protecting his mate, could’ve ended up wrapped around a tree or caused an accident with another vehicle. And beside him, Stiles echoes his stress, his heartbeat, the caution in his eyes.

And it was all because he was worried about intimacy, about sex with his mate; something that should be a pleasurable, natural part of their evening as lovers and partners.

Stiles barely touches Derek’s hand and Derek flinches away.  An immediate spike of sadness flows from Stiles. His long, deft fingers slip away from Derek, leaving the scent of hurt behind on Derek’s skin.

“Stiles…”

“When you can stop saying my name like an apology or a curse word, then come inside.  Don’t worry, you don’t have to sleep with me.  God forbid we could act like mature adults about this and carry on from earlier.” Stiles pushes open the passenger door and then slams it shut before the door ajar signal can grate on Derek’s last nerve.

Derek eventually follows a solemn looking Isaac into the three bedroom house that Stiles had made his home.  He can smell the remnants of his pack mates’ dinner, something tomato and the sticky scent of pasta as he steps into the small foyer.  He removes his boots on the runner Stiles had insisted on buying after dirty werewolves kept tracking mud into the house, a buffer he had called it, between the gifts of the great outdoors and his clean abode.

Stiles’ living room is full of pack, settled in a tangle on the sectional as they watch a movie.  The walls are artfully covered in knick knacks collected from friends around the world; a bamboo mat with hand painted runes, several masks from a tribe of shamans in Africa, old framed field guide pages with pressed leaves and flower samples from across the country, an Eiffel Tower snow globe from Lydia when she was in Paris and a small British flag from Jackson’s time in London.

Stiles has bookcases that run four feet high and border the entire room, each shelf filled to the brim with everything from trashy romance novels to references containing maps of early England.  The pendant lights over the kitchen island burn low, casting shadows against the sage green of the many cabinets Derek built himself for Stiles after the pre-fab ones finally got the best of his inner carpenter’s irritation.

Now it feels like home.  It feels like Stiles.  So why can’t Derek just get over himself, chalk his fear up to a stupid mistake and overwhelming emotions and just follow his mate to bed.  Where he needs to be.  Where he wants to be.

That answer would be it’s hard for Derek to indulge in something that seems too good to be true.  Always one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Derek has learned from past history that nothing is this perfect.  And he’s on edge and he has no idea how to turn it off.

Scott trots over to him, a tired slump to his shoulders and a weak smile on his lips.  “Was the shop okay?”

Derek nods.  He reaches out, his hand hovering over Scott’s shoulder before he gives his beta a squeeze.  “Thanks for keeping up on things when I was… Yeah. I, uh… I appreciate it.”

“Anything you need, man.”  Scott claps him twice on the back.  He wanders into the kitchen and comes back with two water bottles.  “I don’t know what happened, and I really don’t wanna unless it’s life or death, but if you think you’re joining the pile in here… Maybe you should rethink that.”  Scott’s attention drifts to the darkened hallway leading to Stiles’ bedroom.  He worries his lip with his teeth and shakes his head.  “Night, man.”

“Night,” Derek murmurs.  He can feel Stiles’ upset like it’s his own, can almost visualize the way Stiles curls in on himself and slips under the cold sheets alone.  It’s not right.  And once again it’s Derek’s fault.

He sighs.  No one looks at him.  Not even Melissa McCall, who should be ripping him a new asshole right about now.  But she seems content to let him wallow and make big boy choices for himself, and she’s too busy running her fingers through Allison’s hair as the pack worthy Argent nods off to sleep.  It’s such a motherly gesture what Melissa is doing, something that hits him in all the right places as well the space his family used to occupy that are slightly dark and empty.

Derek’s pictures Laura sprawled across the couch, her head in their mother’s lap, Talia’s fingers sinking deep into Laura’s rich tresses.  Not a word passed between them, didn’t have to.  It was just a thing, a gesture of comfort, an act that any parent would do for their child.

And now Derek was having a child.  With Stiles.  They would both get the chance to run their fingers through their baby’s hair, lull them to sleep with the gentle, repetitive motion.  It would strengthen their bond, show their love, and remind their pup they were something special.

Derek looked at the dark hallway and shucked his jacket, laying it down on a barstool at the kitchen island.  He took a deep breath, walking into the darkness with no real plan in mind and a painful awareness that he could be facing rejection from his own mate because Derek was an idiot.

But just as children needed reminders they were loved, just as they needed someone to stroke away their fears with fingers in their hair, so did mates.

The door creaked open as he turned the knob.  The room was dark save for a few ribbons of silvery moonlight slipping through the windows above Stiles’ bed.  Derek made out Stiles’ form in the fetal position under the blankets.  He heard his uneven breathing as if he were inches from Stiles’ face.  But what ripped Derek to shreds was the ache in Stiles’ chest, the misplaced guilt that Stiles thought he’d fucked it all up, the overwhelming abandonment, the belief he wasn’t good enough for what Derek promised they had together. 

Stiles thought, as Derek often did, that this was the other shoe dropping.

Derek pulled his t-shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor in a cottony puddle.  He was quiet as he undid his belt, the button to his jeans, and zipped them down.  He stepped out of his pants as they joined the shirt and soon his socks followed.

He crept over to the bed, where Stiles lay in a state of mourning, and lifted the covers on the other side of Stiles.  His mate gasped when cool air hit his bare skin.  His angry brown eyes searched Derek’s face.

Derek expected an argument.  Hell, he expected Stiles to lay into him the second he put the blankets back over them both.  But Stiles didn’t do that.  He made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and carefully rolled onto his back, eyes screwing shut, which meant he was starting to feel some pain again.

And as the good mate Derek wanted to be for Stiles, to the man he was so far gone on there was no turning back, Derek refused to let Stiles suffer another minute.  Derek got to his knees, carefully maneuvered a struggling Stiles to the center of the bed.  Then Derek brought his hands down, fingertips rolling flat against the smooth expanse of Stiles’ pale chest, all the way to the heel of his palms.

Derek growled at the heat.  It buzzed through his hands with a slow, pleasurable burn.  He looked down at Stiles, aware his mate saw the black veins creeping along Derek’s forearms and up his shoulders.  He took the pain, took it all until he felt simultaneously high and aroused.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed, pupils dilated and mouth falling open.  He reached up, long fingers curling around Derek’s neck as the alpha drew closer.

Derek kissed Stiles’ wrist.  “I’m right here, Stiles.  Tell me how to do this.  Tell me how to do the right thing with you.”

And just like that all the tension drained from Stiles and Derek sighed with his entire body. 

“Fuck, that’s the good stuff.”  Stiles closed his eyes for a moment and breathed.  “Be here—that’s what I told you I wanted.  When I said I meant I needed you to stay, I meant emotionally too.  You flinched when I touched you, Derek.  You have to tell me where you went when you did that.  I need to know why and I am also pulling the pregnant mate card here, yes I know I have very few of those left because I’ve used most of them already today, but I seriously deserve to know why I revolted you back there.”

Derek groans.  He puts a hand under Stiles’ head and touches their foreheads together.  “You really want to know, because now that I think about it, you’re going to find this more flattering than anything, and then it’ll go straight to your head, which I really don’t need right now.”  Derek is thankful for the darkened room, thankful Stiles can’t see the tiny smile he hides.  “I know you better than you think I do.”

Stiles grins and the sight is a personal liberation for his werewolf counterpart.  Derek kisses the bridge of Stiles’ nose while lifting onto his elbows.  “Hale, I hate to break it to you, but while Scott might be my best friend since, well forever, you know me better than anyone on the planet.  I’ve told you things about myself, the person I really am in bits and pieces for the last seven years, things I haven’t told Scott or a therapist or even my dad.  No one knows me like you do.”

Derek rumbles as Stiles slips his hands through the hair at the back his neck, working the pads of his fingertips up across his scalp until Derek shivers.  He smiles with his eyes closed, feeling quite proud of himself at his mate’s praise.  “I thought about you the entire drive home.”

“Hard not to, I was sitting right next to you the whole time.”

“No.”  Derek licks his lips and thinks _fuck it_.  “I thought about you naked, under me, what I would do to you once I got you loosened up and sweaty.”  Derek ran his hands up Stiles’ thighs.

Stiles’ aborted attempt not to arch his hips into Derek’s hands was a struggle he didn’t win as Derek explored his body.

“I got so lost imagining the taste of your skin, the way you would feel in my hands and the sweet cries you’d make for me in my head that I don’t remember driving home and that scared me.  The last time we… You and I barely remember that night, and I’m nervous because being like this, being physically intimate, that’s an important part of us together as mates and I don’t want to fuck it up.  I want it to be good, not so overdue that I’m driving into mailboxes or hitting a poor defenseless person because I’m picturing you on your knees.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles sighs the words.  His breath hitches and his smile is breathtakingly adorable and hungry. Yet the surprise in his eyes is what makes Derek know he’s done the right thing.  Who knew complimenting one’s mate through explicit sexual advances would lead to Stiles saying, “That was the most honest communication we have ever had, and I’m talking circa day one when I met your ‘get off my lawn’, ‘wow, he’s insanely attractive’ and ferocious self.  I’m serious, Der.  The bond between us just sparkled and somewhere a Brony got its wings.”

And for once, Derek feels good about opening up.  It’s a small freedom in the scheme of things, yet it’s also not.  Letting the truth roll off of his tongue for Stiles and Stiles alone is why it feels right, and that’s a huge step, a declaration of sorts in their relationship.  Stiles is his and he is Stiles’.  Derek searches Stiles’ eyes, a smile burning at the corners of his mouth because Stiles is ridiculous but Derek had always been a sucker for his mouth. “Isn’t that what we promised each other?”

“Yes.”  Stiles pushes Derek’s hair back with both hands.  “Yes it is.”

“We can make this work.”  Derek trails kisses down Stiles’ jaw from the corner of his mouth.  He works his way to Stiles’ throat where he begins to nip at the skin, trace the hollow at the base of Stiles’ neck with his tongue.

It’s so easy how they sync with each other, so well timed and worth the wait no matter how hard it was to get here, void of their hang-ups from the past and forgetting everything else if only for tonight.

Stiles’ legs fall open on either side of Derek’s weight as he rearranges his position, and Derek is a fast learner.  He wastes no time in bringing their hips together with a slow grind, only the barest layers of fabric between them.  The feel of their naked chests and warm thighs sliding together is something Derek never will be able to describe and only Stiles will be able to understand.

“Fuck yes we can,” Stiles moans.  He offers his bruised throat to Derek, head falling back because he trusts Derek no matter what the alpha sees on his skin.  “I’m no quitter.  In fact, once I set my mind to something I’m like a fucking champion.”

“Guess you didn’t set your mind on lacrosse back in the day,” Derek teases.  He lets the bruises go because after today they already look so much better.  Derek has his theories about Stiles’ rapid healing, if still slower than a werewolf, but his mate looks healthier, and Stiles certainly isn’t responding like a man in pain—actually, quite the opposite.

“Nah, I was too busy dreaming of a certain hot naked alpha, which always seemed to magically turn me on with his grouchy eyebrows and penchant for one-worded sass.  The best of fantasies were created when I had to sit on the bench, which was a lot.”  Stiles winked, not the least upset and Derek finally got it through his skull how lucky he was that Stiles chose him.  “Even Finstock would’ve been proud.”

“Fuck Finstock,” Derek growls.  He encompasses the sides of Stiles’ rib cage in his large hands, his mouth zeroing in on Stiles’ nipple; unhurried, as if Stiles is precious yet too strong for his own body, because to Derek, Stiles has always embodied everything that was strength. “And you had better be talking about me.”

Stiles quivers.  He grips Derek’s shoulders as his entire body does the wave under his mate’s gloriously hard figure.  Stiles doesn’t feel any pain.  Nothing aches.  Except his dick, which is pulsing between his legs, much like the nerves in each of his nipples after Derek is done ravishing them with his tongue and teeth; teeth that are slightly sharper than human, but that just serves to provoke Stiles more.

Derek swims through Stiles’ every emotion, practically stringing the words together as if he was saying them out loud.  From desire to curiosity to full blown hysteria to melting which, yes is not an emotion, nevertheless Stiles is melting under his ministrations and the little quirks to his naturally erratic train of thought just makes Derek harder.

It’s all very Stiles.  It’s all very real.  And that is exactly what Derek has wanted all along, no pretenses, no pretending, just come as you are, literally and figuratively speaking.

He’s also aware of the smell of Stiles’ skin, an evolved aroma, but still the Stiles he knows and loves.  Like fresh rain and the candy bars he sneaks behind his dad’s back, like the lemonade he favors and a hint of oil he uses to cure the squeak that the shop’s register is often plagued with.  Like musk and man, like innocence and fresh cotton.  Like dirt and summer and the wind during a thunderstorm.

He smells like Derek’s.

Better than anything, Derek scents something that has him closing his eyes against Stiles’ stomach and rubbing his cheek there, hands drifting down to appreciate where his child will grow, where his child had just begun.  And to his benefit, Stiles lets it happen.  He allows Derek to kiss his belly button softly, to trace circles against his stomach, to rumble sweet nothings to the pup that can’t fully acknowledge him yet.

Somehow the arousal softens, and this moment seems more important, more intimate than anything they could ever do to one another.

“What’s it like?”  Stiles pets Derek’s hair.  “Can you… Can you hear it yet?”

“No,” Derek murmurs.  “But I sense it.  I can smell it.”

“What does it smell like?”  Stiles stares down at him, eyes hopeful and just as glassy as Derek’s.

“Like you.  Like me.  Together.”  Derek lifts up and kisses Stiles.  “It smells like home.”

“Yeah?”

“Stiles,” Derek breathes.  He lifts Stiles up and sits back on his heels, dragging his mate into his lap.  “I…I want this so badly,” his voice breaks.  “I want a family with you.”

Stiles nods, just as overcome as Derek.  He wraps his hand around the back of Derek’s neck.  “You’ve been family to me for as long as I can remember, Der.  Baby just makes three.  And that’s only if we’re not taking into account the rest of the furry children we already have.”

Derek kisses Stiles like it’s going out of style and it’s an additional eighty percent off.  Stiles’ lips are scalding and Derek accepts the burn into himself, lets it flood his tongue and send licks of heat down his spine.  His hands stray to Stiles’ back as he lifts his hips.  He urges Stiles to move with him.  Traces each bump down his mate’s backbone, further below to the curve at the small of his back, the softest skin Derek has ever felt.

His fingertips follow the swell of Stiles’ ass, diving beneath the elastic band of his underwear with absolutely no fear this time.  No spells.  No deceptions.  Just them… and Stiles’ ass _.  Sweet heaven above._   Derek growls into Stiles’ neck, biting down, not enough to break the skin, just enough to have Stiles cry out a stream of garble that could have been angels singing for all Derek knew.

“Mine.”  Derek licks at the mark.  His hands filled with Stiles ass, forcing his mate as tight as he can physically be against him.  Their fabric covered cocks brush together, up and down as Stiles begins to move his hips in a deep, rolling rhythm.

“Yes,” Stiles agrees.  He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, using the leverage to lean back, spread his knees wider apart and grind as hard as he can.  “Fuck, Derek, there.”

Derek drags his middle finger down the cleft of Stiles’ ass.  “You like that?”

He knew as sure as the sky was blue that Stiles was one brush away from coming in his underwear, but Derek wanted to hear it out loud.  Having Stiles mindless to what he was saying wasn’t exactly rare—however, hearing his breathy replies, followed by the sound of Stiles’ gorgeous, deep throated moan pleased Derek to no end. He slowly hooked his fingers into Stiles’ underwear and tugged them down.

Stiles gave no indication he had a problem with baring his entire body to Derek’s eyes.  His cock was hard and smelled like Christmas as Derek flung the last of Stiles’ clothes to the darkness.    Derek ran his fingertips up the back of Stiles’ thighs and gently lowered him down to his back.  “You’ll tell me if I…”

“Derek, would you just touch me already?”

“Exactly what have I been doing for the past twenty minutes?”  Derek rubs his cheek along Stiles’ length.

“You know what I mean.” Stiles hisses back hot air.  His hands in Derek’s hair, his fingers magnetized to the dark, soft pieces that thread between them.  “Please…”

“Please what, _my mate_.”

Like it’s his own, Stiles’ desire unfurls in Derek’s gut and he nearly comes from that alone.  “You like it when I call you mine?”  Derek uses the flat of his tongue to lick a thick, wet stripe up Stiles’ cock.

Stiles is watching him, hips rolling against Derek’s open lips.  “Yours.  Fuck, Derek.”  Stiles’ head falls back, his moans littered with throaty gasps and near hiccups when Derek’s takes him down as far as he can.  “I’m gonna… Derek, I’m gonna…”

“Come in my mouth,” Derek whispers, filthy and just for his mate.  He jerks Stiles with his spit slicked palm, mouth devouring Stiles length again.

Their gazes lock.  Stiles comes apart, warm and salty in Derek’s mouth, an earth shattering smile on Stiles’ lips as he breaks in the best kind of way.  He bucks his hips then pushes up with his feet until he can curl his toes and feel the quivering strain in his thighs, the stretch and the sweet tingle it leaves in his muscles.

Derek licks his lips, already on his knees, shoving his underwear down as Stiles watches him with a half lidded, well fucked expression.  Derek barely pulls his cock out and he’s coming on Stiles’ chest, drawing out every drop with his fist to mark his mate’s body with his scent, with his protection and love.

Stiles blows his mind as he begins to rub the mess they made into his skin as if he knows it’s exactly what Derek wants, and also as someone who spends too much time with werewolves.  His fingers splay over his neck, aware Derek is watching every move.  He sucks a finger into his mouth and Derek is right there, seeing, jealous that Stiles isn’t sharing the taste.

Stiles does Derek one better.  He lifts his head, kissing Derek, licks into his mouth so Derek will know their combined flavor.  And it is worth the wait.  The cost of seven long years has aged their mating into something mature, something they can handle, a union that’s as full and easy as just twining their fingers together and closing their eyes to bask in.  Derek will remember this is as their first time, and hopefully, so will Stiles because it was perfect.  Better than perfect.

Not soon after, Stiles is curled around Derek’s side, drifting off into a well-deserved sleep from a stressful day.  And for once, Derek allows himself the same indulgence because his pack, their family and friends letting them have this, are there to watch over them as their dreams take them away.

***

When Stiles opens his eyes and reaches with his fingers, he finds the other side of the bed empty except for warm rays of sunshine that slip through his grasp.  He blinks, unsure if he’s still asleep or if last night was a dream.  _Pretty sure last night happened,_ he thinks.  _Smells like it happened_ , he smiles then grimaces at the stiff spots in the sheets.  He rolls onto his back while he runs his hands down his chest to fresh pink marks caused by Derek’s lips, his teeth.

Stiles’ cheeks warm at the thought, but he’s also well aware that Derek is no longer in bed and the clock on his bedside table is glaring at him to get up.  Stiles rolls his eyes.  Ten is a completely acceptable time to get up, and excuse him for being tired from yesterday and by association, last night.

His body flushes, remembering the dark look in Derek’s eyes, the way his stubble had gently greeted Stiles’ stomach, greeted their child.  And when Stiles checks his phone, he can’t help the goofy smile that tugs at his mouth.

**From Sourwolf (8:30 am):**

**Good morning.  Trust you slept well.  Eat breakfast then call me. Xx**

Stiles gawks for a good long while.  “Did Derek Hale just send me virtual kisses?  What dimension did I wake up in?”

And as strange as Derek’s new behavior is, Stiles loves it, he fucking adores it.  Swoons like a teenage girl in front of the bathroom mirror, where he finds it hard to brush his teeth because that crazy smile is tightly plastered on his face the entire time.

“Derek Hale blew me last night,” he says around the suds in his mouth.  “He thinks I’m sexy,” he praises his mirror image.  He spits in the sink.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees another cause to make him grin.  “Oh Hale, what am I going to do with you?”

He picks up the damp towel that wasn’t there last night, the one on the floor six inches from the hamper.  Sees the red toothbrush that is definitely straight out of the plastic from his stash under the sink, the one left on the counter to pool in water instead of being put in the holder next to Stiles’.  And next to that is a little sprinkle of dark hair clippings trailing to Stiles’ electric shaver on the counter. 

“He totally used my stuff,” Stiles whispers in belated awe.  “Derek Hale spent the night.”  He squeals quietly as he slips into the shower, where he spends extra time cleaning his hard dick, and then gets ready for the day with respectable clothes and everything like a grownup and not some preteen president of the Derek Hale fan club.

When he finally leaves his room, fully expecting his house to be overrun with pack, Stiles is pleasantly surprised to find just Isaac in the kitchen and the rest of the house empty.  Isaac quietly slides some egg whites out of the pan onto a plate as Stiles approaches.

“Hey.”

Isaac looks over his shoulder and nods.  “You’re up early.”

“Early?  It’s ten thirty.  I don’t think I’ve ever slept in so late in my life, that’s like four hours of life wasted.”

Isaac smirks, head down as he cuts orange slices.  “Stiles, trust me, it’s been the most enjoyable morning I’ve ever had.  Quiet except for the squealing.”

Stiles gives him an overly exaggerated  pout.  “Jerk.  Everyone loves my morning zest.”  Stiles reddens and backpedals.  “I didn’t mean zest as in spunk, I meant energy!  Like woo hoo good morning, I’m bright and cheery and not at all horribly embarrassed you heard me jerking off.” 

And then Isaac terrifies Stiles.  He gasps and stands up straight.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean anything by it.  Just a joke.  Don’t tell Derek.”

“ _What_?”

The plate of food appears in front of Stiles; egg whites with spinach and feta, some orange slices and a two pieces of turkey bacon.  Isaac stares at him expectantly like if Stiles doesn’t take his breakfast Isaac is afraid it will disappear and then so will the young beta, like poof into a cloud of dust and zapped by an evil witch.

“Isaac, what’s going on?  Why are you flipping out?  And what exactly am I not supposed to tell Derek, who sent me little text kisses this morning.”  Stiles holds up his phone.  “See this?  Double X’s.  That’s true love, bitch.”

Isaac visibly deflates.  He pushes his curls away from his forehead.  “Derek was on his pregnant Stiles kick this morning.  We knew it’d be bad, but not this bad.”

“Do tell.”  Stiles leans forward on the breakfast bar, chin in hand.

“Middle of the night, he wakes us all up to go over the schedule, the menu, and the ‘game plan’.”  Isaac makes air quotes and Stiles tries not to laugh.

“But Derek was with me last night.  What are you talking about?”

“Don’t make me uncomfortable, Stilinski.  It’s too early.”

“So after Derek and I had sexy times, he forced you all awake to make a game plan?  For what?”  Stiles clucks his tongue.  “So what, I’m only good enough for my dick and my electric shaver?  I don’t get to keep my idiotic notions that my wolf husband actually slept with me last night?”

“I don’t even want to know.”  Isaac wriggles his nose at the thought of Stiles and Derek getting it on and whatever an electric shaver had to do with it.  He blinks away the image to pull out a binder full of notebook paper and homemade tabs to divide the book into sections.  “For this.”

Stiles flipped through ‘Stiles Watch’ shift changes, names and dates and contacts, safe house information, two weeks’ worth of menus that amounted to the exact amount of calories a pregnant person needed, appointments Stiles would be partaking in for the next month.  His calendar from the shop had been snatched and taped to the inside of the binder, so none of his appointments coincided with his doula and Deaton visits.

“Does this say exercise?”  Stiles narrows his eyes at Isaac.  “Such as this morning I am to participate in an hour of yoga with you?”  Stiles snorts.  “Have you seen my balance, Lahey, it’s nonexistent, and no offense but I don’t think I could keep a straight face trying to find my inner peace while listening to Enya.”

“Why does everyone always think I listen to Enya?”  Isaac huffs.  “You know what, forget it.  Just do whatever.  I’ll go read a book until his majesty rolls around for lunch.  I knew you weren’t going to like this.  I told him… Doesn’t matter, he’s going to be pissed at me anyway.”  Isaac hides his eyes as he shakes out his hair and trots off barefoot to the patio.

Whether it was the hurt in Isaac’s voice, like he’d truly wanted to offer something unique to Derek’s Epic Binder of Madness that would rule Stiles’ life, or if it was the baby mojo responding to the fluctuation of emotions in the room, didn’t matter, everything just snapped into focus for Stiles.

His plate of food in front of him smelled delicious times ten, ala wolf style and it was almost gave him cause to jerk off at the counter, because a whiff of bacon scented with radioactive magical powers?—uh, hell yes.  He smelled the pungent scent of bleach from the open laundry closet behind the kitchen and heard the tumble of the dryer like he had his head stuck in the damn thing.  Isaac though, his emotions took center stage; mopey, resigned, rejected.  He’d gone out on the porch to read his book, defiantly keeping his back to Stiles.

“Okay, tiny Dr. Phil, I get it.”  Stiles pats his stomach.  “Warn a guy next time you plan to make a special appearance?”  He sighs when his offspring doesn’t answer.  “This is really my life,” he whispers to no one.

Brooding is something all werewolves are good at, but being a part of Derek’s pack gives his betas an honorary expertise in the art of self-loathing.  Isaac has obviously learned well.  The kid came from rough beginnings, and not even five years ago this scenario would never have happened between Stiles and Isaac.  There had been a mutual dislike for each other. 

Isaac growing into his wolf side, thinking he was hot shit and invincible like his stylish scarves were a substitute for a cape.  Stiles was immature yet compassionate, trying to get Isaac to talk about the root of his problems, always one to fix people, and Isaac shut him down every time because talking about Isaac’s past abuse was too hard for the guy.  But eventually, Isaac came around to see that was just how Stiles was, and realized that he himself was not all that badass, but that he could still help people with what he’d gone through and now with his werewolf abilities.

So Isaac wound up doing the complete opposite of what he’d tried to achieve by being a cocky, swaggerlicious beta.  He sold his dad’s house after the bastard died, allowed Derek to take care of him until he could manage on his own, and then opened a yoga studio downtown to gain a sense of peace by being the shy, sexy yogi to the depraved housewives and in-the-know single guys of Beacon Hills.  He reverted back to the quiet Isaac that Stiles had come to know in high school, only this time it wasn’t because his asshole father was telling him to keep his mouth shut.  Now it was because Isaac was observant, soft spoken, and really very smart.

Stiles is proud of Isaac.  And he knows he should say it more often.  He sank into the chair opposite Isaac’s and peered at the book spine above Isaac’s long fingers.  He catches the name Nicholas Sparks and rethinks praising Isaac for anything at all.  Stiles groans as he picks at his eggs, wondering if Allison had forced Isaac into her and Lydia’s book club designed for women in their mid-twenties that devour ardently worded porn novels with heaping amounts of emotional baggage. 

Isaac flips a page, seemingly interested as he cocks his head in thought or maybe he’s wondering how likely it is for a dashing doctor to South American villagers happens to get stormed in at American B&B in Rodanthe, where wild horses roam the beach and a sex starved divorcee just happens to be watching the place for her ‘friend.’  And to ruin the whole ‘just happened’ theme, where romance runs wild and the passion sizzles and many long winded love letters later, the guy goes and dies.  And his lady friend, what, gets with the grieving son or something?  Fuck that nonsense.

“I hate that guy,” Stiles hisses at his breakfast.  One book and Sparks was the devil.  He’d never tell anyone he’d read the thing though.  Never.  Ever.

Stiles shakes his head, orange juice running down his chin as the sun warms his toes.  Somewhere between his last bite and Isaac’s tenth or eleventh page, they fall into a contented silence until…

“You were supposed to call him.”  Isaac closes his book and stuffs it under his arm.  “Your phone is going off.”

“It’s on vibrate?  In the kitchen?”  Stiles shields his eyes from the sun to look up at Isaac.

“Werewolf?”  Isaac rolls his eyes and slinks back into the house.  “Call him.”

“And tell him what, that I’m not down with the one binder that rules them all?”

“Don’t care.  Tell him what you like so long as I don’t have to smell it.”  Isaac snorts.  “But the fact is you’re going to go with the plan whether you like it or not, because he’s the alpha and you’re his mate, who is carrying his child.  He’s extremely protective, possessive, and just a bit scary right now, so save me from getting my head chewed off and get your things for the day.  I reserved the studio for the two of us in an hour.”

Stiles marches into the living room.  “Did he _threaten_ you guys?” He puts a hand on his hip and scowls.  “Because you are just as much my betas as you are his and I’m the one with the bun in the oven here.  If he wants to throw his weight around, he does it with me, not you guys.  We are grownups!”  Stiles lifts his hands, begging the universe to help him.  “What part of that doesn’t he understand?”

“ _Your_ betas, huh?”  Stiles finds Isaac smiling softly at the counter.  “I’ve never heard you say that before.”

“Only been consciously mated to the alpha for forty-eight hours, buddy.  And from my understanding of being werewolf married, the what’s his is mine rule still applies.”

The tension leaves Isaac’s rigid body.  His smile grows as he nods.  “Okay.”

“Okay what?  I didn’t even ask you anything.”

Isaac brushes past Stiles like he wants a hug but settles for pressing their sides together as he waltzes by.  “Didn’t have to, madam alpha.” Isaac winks over his shoulder.  “Call him and get ready.  We have a long day ahead of us.”

Stiles grumbles and picks up his phone.  He lets it ring and ring until finally Derek picks up.  “Good morning, your majesty,” he steals from Isaac.  “I trust you slept well last night.  Or maybe you didn’t since you ditched my warm body five minutes after I zonked out to plan the furry baby apocalypse down to the minute, and with color coded tabs?”

“Stiles…”

“What did I tell you about saying my name like a curse?”

In the background Stiles hears noise and lots of it, as if Derek is standing in the middle of Times Square being ripped to pieces.  “Good morning to you to.  I guess you saw the binder?”

“Saw it?  No, I’m _experiencing_ it.”  Stiles flips through the plastic monstrosity.  “Feeding times, what I can’t eat, when to walk me… Jesus, Derek, this makes me sound like your Pomeranian.  Did you forget the part where I am a grown ass man who has been making adult choices for myself, a man I might mention was worthy enough to be your one true love, furry style of course, but not good enough to prepare for our child _together_ sans office supplies used as torture devices!”

Derek growls.  “I swear, Stiles, if you make me shift in front of this human crew, I will not let you out of that bed for the next eight months.  Do you hear me?  Now calm down and listen to me.”

“Eight months?  You’d have to learn some serious bondage, my friend, to get me to stay there that long without ripping your face off!”  Stiles growls and this time he hears it, revels in it even.  “And what crew?  What humans?  Where the hell are you while I’m stuck pulling shift at Mommy and Isaac’s Bendy Time?”

Derek ignores him.  “We have eight months, maybe less, until that baby comes, Stiles.  What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“Wildly brooding in the middle of a live showing of STOMP?”

“You…”  Derek breathes heavily into the phone.  “I’m finishing our house, Stiles.”

Before he can reflect, Stiles says the unthinkable.  “And you just expect me to come move out there, to a house that I had no say in and be a little family?”

Isaac is giving Stiles the saddest look he has ever seen, as if the beta is mirroring his alpha’s hurt from miles away.  Stiles gasps.  He closes his eyes.  “Derek, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean that.  I just—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Stiles.”

Stiles stares at his phone.  He puts a hand to his chest where it hurts so much.  “I… I didn’t… He hung up on me.”

“So he wouldn’t say things he didn’t mean,” Isaac provides, giving Stiles a pointed look.  “Now are we leaving or what?”

Before tears could form, Stiles begrudgingly gathered his belongings.  As much as he hated the idea of being told what to do, he knew Derek’s heart was in the right place and he also knew actions spoke louder than words.  If Derek wanted Stiles to get bendy with yoga and eat egg whites for breakfast—that were actually pretty tasty if Stiles admitted it to himself—then Stiles would apologize by going with the flow.

Later on, he’d apologize for real.

***

Derek received updates from Isaac at least once an hour. 

_He ate the entire plate._

_He’s not too happy right now._

_He heard the train coming this way from five miles out.  Is he turning into a wolf?_

_Please don’t be mad.  If you can feel it, he’s not crying because he’s sad.  I just made him wear spandex._

_He might actually like yoga.  He’s a natural._

_He ate lunch at the diner.  Salad with a chicken breast.  Can he have a milkshake?  Please say he can have a milkshake._

_He wants to go shopping.  Please don’t make me do this._

_We’re at Melissa’s.  He’s sharing what he read last night with the young doula.  The old one scares me._

_They’re doing magic!  Derek!_

Derek borrows the keys of one of the worker’s trucks because his jeep is blocked in.  His floors the gas and rips through the suburban neighborhoods, nearly on two wheels around corners until he screeches to a stop in the McCall’s driveway.

Power fills the air, wraps around him like a silky veil that lures him to the front door.  He doesn’t bother knocking—why should he?—and smacks open the door.  “Stiles!”

“In here, oh Captain of My Heart.”

Derek grunts at the sarcastic endearment, following the trail of power and the sweet scent of Stiles into the living room.  Alenka is perched like a doll in the center of the sofa, her pale skin and white hair punctuating the olive green walls and overall earthy motif of the room.  On the floor, Dorota and Stiles sit facing each other, their palms touching.  Standing over Stiles, half shifted, is Isaac, who appears ready to eat Dorota’s face off if she so much as flicks a finger the wrong way.

Amidst the craziness of it all, Melissa comes through the door to the kitchen with a tray of snacks in her hands.  “Hi sweetheart.”  She kisses Derek’s cheek like it’s no big deal and gestures for him to follow with a jerk of her head.  “I think that’s enough for right now.  Let’s take a break.”

“Well hiya, doll face.”  Stiles makes a clicking noise with his tongue as he gives Derek a cheeky smile.  “What brings you over to these parts?  Run out of wood?”

Isaac groans.  Derek sighs into his seat.  Melissa ruffles Stiles’ hair.  “Be good?”

“Since when?”  Stiles retorts.

“Try to be nice then?”

“You’re feeding me apple slices and oolong tea, Momma McCall, who is supposed to be nice to whom?”

“Ah, you’ll get over it.  It’s for the baby, so suck it up and eat your snack.”  She smirks.  “Since you won’t be nursing, I’ll break you out after a couple of weeks of newborn torture and take you for curly fries and margaritas.  Something to look forward to.”

“You really do love me.”  Stiles beams.

“Something like that.”  She pats his head and begins offering the ladies some tea.  “Isaac, would you like something to drink, honey?”

Isaac takes ragged breaths, barely controlling the wolf bleeding across his face and arms.  He stares at Dorota like she’s the devil , bares his fangs at the child until Derek smacks him upside the head.  “ _Enough_.”

“They were…  She was…”  Isaac points at the young girl.  “I texted you!”

“I’m so proud you called in the cavalry, Isaac.  Dorota here was just showing me an exercise to get rid of the bloating.  Fresh veggies all day will do that to a guy.”  Stiles pats his belly.  “It wasn’t pretty there for a minute.”

“She just took your hands and you started glowing!  How was I supposed to know?”

“Oh, I dunno, ask?”  Stiles shrugs.

Derek watches his beta and his mate bicker back and forth.  Once he was able to calm his heart, see for himself that Stiles wasn’t being bodily possessed by a twelve year old, and that Alenka hadn’t threatened anyone with her cane, Derek got to his feet.  He offered Stiles a hand.  His mate looked up the length of Derek’s body.  Stiles’ heart raced as if he was in trouble, guilt blooming around him.

“Can we take our snack into the kitchen?”  Derek asked quietly.

Stiles sighed in relief.  “Yeah.”  He clasped Derek’s hand, allowed himself to be pulled upright. And a few minutes later they were settled next to each other at the table, a mug in front of them both.

“So…”  Stiles fidgeted with his hoodie string.  “About earlier…”

“I should have talked to you about it.  I’d assumed when you came to the house the first time that you…”

“That I what?”

“That you’d figured out I wanted to raise our family there?”

“I thought it was just something to keep you busy, and I’m happy you’re rebuilding, Der.”  Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s.  “I really am.  I just… If that’s what you want I kind of want to be a part of it.  I don’t want to move into _your_ house.  I want to move into _our_ house.  I’m not trying to change your plans if you want to rebuild in memory of your family, Derek.  I just want to be there to watch the magic happen and maybe pick the tile, you know? Be able to tell our kid little stories of before they born and why one of the doors won’t shut because we couldn’t get the floor even and why their daddy picked black walls to match his expressive eyebrows.”

Derek’s lip twitches, right in the middle of a smile and a grimace.

Since his family burned and Laura had died, Derek never thought the word ‘we’ would ever enter his life again.  Enter being a relatively subtle term as opposed to the way Stiles jumped head first into Derek’s space to begin with.  But it was the headstrong way Stiles took the reins away from Derek at times that drew the alpha closer to his human counterpart, made him curious and left him in awe, made him come back for more until he’d greedily had his fill yet still ached for another taste.

Simple conversations between Derek and Stiles had many layers, complex facets and careful answers from both sides of the fence because they were two different people who thought in entirely opposite ways.  Derek had been a one man show for so long, even surrounded by pack, that something as simple as moving Stiles into his old family home hadn’t seemed to warrant a long, drawn out discussion on his part.  He’d just assumed Stiles would come along because…

In his mind, he was the alpha, the father, the dominant one, and thereby Stiles would comply.  But that was just a fantasy to the reality that was Stiles Stilinksi, because Stiles needed reasons, needed to feel a part of something bigger, needed his opinions heard and his feelings felt.  He wanted to leave his stamp on the world full of never ending questions, countless arguments and goofy smiles that made Derek melt.

And who was Derek to deny him that?

That’s what being in a relationship was all about; give and take; sacrifices; coming together so the end product was equal parts both of their personalities and not just what Derek wanted so Stiles could feel useless and decorative in their mating.

“I’m sorry.”  Derek squeezes Stiles’ fingers.  “I’m not used to…”

“And I am?”  Stiles chuckles.  “A month ago I was the freaky guy who owned an occult shop and had an epic crush of seven years on Derek Hale.  Now look at us.  There was bound to be a few mishaps.”

Derek scrubbed a hand through his hair.  He stared at his tea that smelled like fruity potpourri.  “I just don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate you.”

“I think you appreciated me just fine last night.”  Stiles wags his brows.  He slips his arm through Derek’s and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder.  “Look, I know you’re probably feeling like you have to be the manly man in this relationship, and you have to provide for me and protect me and build a house for me and little wolfy here.”  Stiles pats his stomach.  “But I think I’ve proven I’m not some delicate princess, Derek.  I can protect myself, although I appreciate having you watch over me.  I have a life now, a life I’ve worked hard to achieve through years of shitty part-time jobs and schooling and apprenticeships with the world’s most vague veterinarian.  I have interests that we don’t share and some that we do, but that doesn’t mean we can’t share in each other’s wants and dreams without dominating one another into complete submission.”

“You mean the binder?”

“For starters.”  Stiles threads their fingers together.  “I get the point of it.  I was mad at first that you think I’d roll over and take it lying down, no dog jokes intended.”  Derek cracks a smile.  “But then I started to think of it differently.  I kind of do the same thing to my dad; make sure he eats right and gets on the treadmill and has people looking out for him when I’m not around.  I do that because I love him and sometimes I forget that he can look after himself, but it doesn’t take away the need to protect him because he’s my family and he’s all that I have left.  So I get it, Der.  I do.  And… thank you for caring.  I know this isn’t easy for you either.”

Derek stares at their twined fingers and lets the word family resonate with him.  Last night had been about passion and connecting, their bond thriving to life because of their open honesty with one another.  So why would he hide from Stiles now?  Because he’s scared.  Derek Hale is scared of not having control over his life, his mate, their unborn child.  He’s scared of a faceless enemy that watches their every move and waits for the day it can take their child from them.  He’s scared he’s going to lose his family all over again and he seeks to contain any ounce of control he has left.

He’s not good with words.  Sometimes he can hit the nail on the head like he did last night, but sometimes when their conversations hit a little too close to home, Derek clams up and waits for Stiles to figure out the missing links.  Like right now he hopes Stiles can read his mind and he doesn’t have to share his deepest fears.  He doesn’t want Stiles to carry the burden of his heavy heart when Stiles is the light to his dark and that’s what keeps Derek going.

“We can keep the binder,” Stiles whispers.  “S’not so bad.  I kind of liked yoga, but the spandex is _not_ happening again.”

Derek’s lips trembles at Stiles’ roundabout acceptance.  He buries his face in Stiles’ neck and holds him tight.  “I love you,” Derek whispers.

“I love you too,” Stiles murmurs back just as quickly, stroking Derek’s hair with his free hand.  “We’ll get through this, I swear we will.  We’re gonna get to live in that house with our nerdy, awkwardly handsome furry child and watch him grow for many years to come.  That bitch is not gonna take that from us, do you hear me?”

“I do.”  Derek grins.  “Did you say he?”

Stiles rolls his eyes as he pulls away.  “Just trying it out.”

Derek nods.  He slips a hand under Stiles’s shirt to press his palm against his stomach.  The baby, even with many weeks to go has a power all its own.  It calms Derek, reassures him that this is real and something he can have with Stiles; makes him love Stiles even more.

“Will you do something for me?”

Stiles lifts a brow, a lopsided grin on his lips.  “Is it kinky?”

Derek snorts.  He pulls a folded over stack of cards out of his back pocket and lays them on the table.  Stiles sifts through them with a smile.

“Paint colors?” Derek lifts a shoulder.  “What’s the catch?”

Derek bites his lip.  “It’s stupid. Forget it.  Just pick some colors, okay?”

Stiles puts his finger under Derek’s chin and turns his face to him.  “Out with it, Wolf Master.”

Derek hesitates before he says, “There was this thing my mom used to do when she was pregnant with Cora…”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Derek smiles, because he hasn’t even asked and Stiles has already agreed.

A few hours later, Derek is surveying the work being done by his new crew on the staircase when his phone beeps with a text message.  It’s an invitation link to a private photo sharing folder Stiles has sent in mass to the pack.

“I’ll be right back, guys.”  Derek descends the stairs and walks out to back of the house. 

He sits down under a large tree, needing the privacy as his face erupts with a giant smile.  The first picture is of Stiles that Isaac had most likely taken.  Stiles with his ass in the air, his hands and feet balanced on a bright green mat in the yoga studio with the tag ‘ _Baby’s first downward dog.’_ The next picture is of Stiles and Dorota smiling at each other over a game of chess with the tag _‘Baby’s first checkmate.’_ The picture after that is of Stiles sticking his tongue out at Isaac, who is rolling his eyes, with the tag, ‘ _Baby and daddy’s shared dislike of Nicholas Sparks_.’

But the last picture is Derek’s favorite, what he’d asked of Stiles in the first place.  His eyes mist over as he rubs his thumb over the screen.  Stiles is standing sideways next to the wall in Melissa’s living room.  His shirt is pulled up to reveal his still flat tummy, Stiles’ smile is blinding as if he’d meant to send his joy straight to Derek’s heart.  The tag reads, “ _Stiles: 3 weeks.  And so begins the decline of pop pop’s abs_.”

 TBC


	6. Red Eyes Aren't Only for Alphas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek receive a present neither of them want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Just wanted to say that I'm totally twisting religious tales and folklore here in the name of fiction, so if you're a person who needs factual details, you won't be getting them here. :) Second thing, this chapter is LONG with a lot drama going on and the addition of new characters. Might want to get a snack before you read because you'll be here a while. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks for all the love. xxx

Derek is taking a late lunch with the crew at the house site.  For everyone’s sake, and because he suddenly finds himself whipped, he’s allowed a few members of Stiles’ fan club onto his crew.  After wading through the entirety of the applicant list, or rather the many sticky notes Stiles has left on the kitchen island with little messages for Derek to find in the mornings, Derek settled on three Supernaturals that would blend in with his otherwise human construction crew.

Easily enough, the shifter he chose is named is Glen.  His name doesn’t come attached with a history, doesn’t sound like his parents were wizards and his last name isn’t Latin or derivative of an ancient plant species, plus when Glen isn’t shifting into any number of things, his human form is built like a brick house made for defending, yet Glen can just as easily turn into a tiny child in the blink of an eye.  Or a tree.  Or a bird.  Or a patch of grass if need be.

Glen has become the eyes of their worksite, shifting at will when he’ll least be missed on the job to keep an eye out when Derek has his back turned.

What Stiles did to help Glen is still a mystery to Derek and Glen hasn’t been forthcoming with that information, but he’s decidedly loyal to the idea of Stiles’ protection and not stepping on the Alpha’s toes.  So Derek waits.

Betty is an athletic woman in her early thirties, fiery red hair, pretty where it counts, and constantly glowering at the guys on the crew who leer at her body when they think she’s unaware.  She’s a rogue fae with no clan to call her own.  An orphan who grew up in foster care, Betty made the best out of her life, scraping by from city to city with her knowledge of plants and wildlife by selling potted herbs and flowers at flea markets.

With nowhere to go, poor and homeless and on the road, Betty happened by Stiles one night outside a gas station a few hours out of town.  Stiles offered her a meal, and in true Stiles fashion he spent the next eight hours coaxing information out of her at an all-hours diner.  Like recognized like and Betty and Stiles became friends. 

Within a week Stiles had secured her a job at a nature center upstate with yet another connection of his.  Stiles got her a bus ticket and a place to stay and that was that.  Stiles had given her a second chance at life and now Betty was here to return the favor, but not before her plan to intimidate all of Derek’s crew was completed.

Betty thrust the shovel into the dry patch of earth under her feet and stomped on it with her boot to get the last bit of force she needed, or to simulate what it’d be like if she thrust a shovel into a man’s neck and then buried him six feet under.  And all the while she glared at the three catcallers from earlier that morning, all of them gawking in fear from the porch.

Her message was received.

Derek smiled into his sandwich.  His gaze strayed to Herb, who was a warlock with pizazz, and that was putting it lightly.  The skinny little man with a faux hawk of blond hair adjusted his stylish spectacles atop his nose and kept shaking his head at the sample portfolio his assistant held in front of him.  “This is all so _dreary_ , Elizabeth,” he chastised her, enunciating each syllable of her name like she wasn’t capable. “We’re creating family memories here, not renovating Harvard.”

“I just figured with the dark wood…”

“You figured wrong.  No.”  He flipped a page.  “Huh uh.  Absolutely not.”  Another page and he thumped the portfolio shut.  “Earth tones—see if you can manage that on your own.  Chop chop.”

Elizabeth scrambled to the trunk of Herb’s zippy Mercedes convertible.  And Herb passed the time by staring up at Derek’s house like he was beholding a precious diamond in the rough.  His fitted suit and metallic purple tie made him a sideshow all of his own doing, surrounded by dirty, sweaty guys in cheap jeans and work boots.  However ridiculous the man seemed, Herb was in his element, and Derek just avoided him completely when he saw the twinkle creep into Herb’s blue eyes.

Two years ago, Derek would never have thought a guy like Herbius Gregory would ever step foot into Stiles’ shop, never mingle with the lowly people of Beacon Hills, or actually proclaim himself a warlock in broad daylight where normally witches and warlocks weren’t known for being so positive about it, or nice for that matter. Witches were definitely not Derek’s favorite kind of people.

Nevertheless Herb had come to Stiles by recommendation, and Stiles being who he is, was all ears to listen to Herb’s tragic tale.  Herb’s young son had died in a car accident.  His wife had left him in her grief.  And now Herb was all alone, had traveled all the way to Beacon Hills, bringing with him a single, dried up sunflower and a handkerchief to dry his many tears. 

The flower had been part of garden he had grown with his son, many years of hard work and bonding had made the beautiful flowers grow, but after Herb’s son passed away the flowers died no matter how Herb tried to care for them.  It was as if they were cursed by his son’s death.

They were the last good thing Herb had left.  To Derek, they were Herb’s anchor when things got rough and he could respect that.

Stiles sympathized; his mother had loved her garden too and many fond memories were made for Stiles through his mother’s old flower beds.  Stiles brought Herb’s flowers back to life, holding Herb’s hand as they both touched the flower all through the night to give it time to bloom as the new day came. 

Stiles gave Herb something to live for again, and no matter how silly or how small the act seemed, it worked.  Herb could breathe a tiny bit easier every day, and even though the pain would still be there in place of his child, he still had a piece of his son left when he dug his hands into rich soil and watched the flowers grow again.

So Derek allowed the charismatic Herb to dole out orders to his mousy assistant and pretty much snatch Derek’s plans away and twist them into something even more beautiful and so very pack, because no one would understand their plight as parents to be more than a man who had lost his own child.  And Derek let the interior decorator go wild within reason because it seemed to make Herb happy—not that Derek would ever admit that to anyone, ever.

He was almost done with his sandwich when his phone beeped right on time.  _New photos have been added to folder – All Hale IT Who Has Yet to Be Named._

Derek shook his head.  Every day Stiles changed the album name to something absurd.  Today was no different, but it still pulled a smile out of Derek. 

Although today’s picture stopped Derek in his tracks. 

Stiles was sitting on the metal table at Deaton’s clinic, smiling, mid wave at the camera.  Derek stood from his seat, his paper plate knocking to the ground.  He flipped to the next one, hoping upon hope that he hadn’t missed an appointment or that this was a joke, because Stiles thought he was so hilarious like that.

The next download was a video and Derek pressed play without thinking.  Stiles sighed at someone behind the camera and rubbed his lips together, amusement lighting up his amber eyes.  “Hey there, handsome.  First off let me say that I know you’re probably flipping a shit right now, so I’d feel a lot better if you got off your feet, took a seat and stopped trying to burn the phone into a pile of goo with your danger eyes.  Next, no nothing is wrong, no one is forcing me to make this video at gunpoint and no one has been kidnapped to be a sacrifice to the four horsemen.  I came to Deaton of my own free will because I was a little achy today and hoped he could get me something besides tea to settle the cramping.  And yes, I brought my bodyguards with me, so stop growling.”  Stiles smiles.  “One thing led to another and we went ahead and did the ultrasound today instead of next week, and don’t freak out, okay?”

“Come on, Stiles.”  Derek tapped his foot nervously.

“And then Scott said he heard something funny and then Erica said she heard it too and then Deaton confirmed on the ultrasound…”  Stiles bit his lip.  “Derek.  There’s a heartbeat.”

Derek’s hand went to his mouth.  His stomach flipped over and his heart raced.

“That’s not all.  There wasn’t just one heartbeat apart from mine.  There are two.”  Stiles lifts a black and white photo up to the camera.  Someone has a shitty phone, Derek thinks as he tries to see the ultrasound that can’t quite come into focus.  “Two babies.  Two of them, Der.”

“Holy shit,” Derek murmurs.  He was having two kids at the same freaking time?  What!

“I think you should play hooky for the rest of the afternoon and let Herb bark around the site until it’s quittin’ time.  I want you home.”  Stiles smiled.  “I want you to hear them.”

Derek wants so badly to be at Stiles’ side this very instant, nuzzling into the warmth and softness of his mate’s neck, breathing him in, hearing the sound of his children’s heartbeats.  Two of them.  Twins.  Holy fuck.

The video cuts off.  Derek is pretty sure he says something to Herb and that Herb stares at him like he’s crazy, and Derek possibly is half insane, but soon enough he’s in his jeep and headed home to his mate and one of these days he’s going to get pulled over for breaking the speed of light in a vehicle.  But not today.  Just not today.

***

“No, Lydia, it’s too early to find out what sex they are.”  Stiles is grinning.  Derek is close by, he can feel it and that means the twins are feeling it.  He balances the phone between his ear and shoulder.  “And besides, gender neutral is supposedly the thing these days.  I saw some pretty cool nurseries on that bulletin board online thingy you showed me.  I’m so down with the robot nursery…”

He sifts through the mail and looks up to wave at George, his prehistoric mail carrier who wears shorts all year round.  “French themed baby nursery?  This isn’t Versailles, Lyds.  These are going to be natural terrors who won’t appreciate the finery of lavender scented sheets and gold brocade curtains.  What?  Yes, I know what brocade is. I’m not an idiot.  As I was saying—”

Stiles’ toe brushes up against a package near the edge of the front step.  “Hold up, Lyds, got a package.”

That’s when he smells it, like a summer bonfire that curled up his nose and lit up his senses, enticing old memories of friends and never ending warm evenings under the moon.  And much like temptation, the scent changed from something wonderful into a _stench_ , ghastly and rotting, old ashes and smoke that choked you until your lungs were black and your breath nonexistent.  Stiles kicked the package away, his fingertips and toes singed from the power of his own protective bubble flaring to life unexpectedly.

“Lyds,” he breathed and no sooner had he said her name and Scott and Erica were in the yard, tearing around the property to latch onto the scent.  Something moved away from the brush lining Stiles’ yard, something big, with red eyes and large paws that made a hell of lot of noise as it ran through the woods and Scott took off after it.

Erica seemed torn.  She wanted to follow yet she knew she couldn’t leave Stiles alone.  It just wasn’t done.  Not even for Stiles, who had reassured them all he was protected.  Not under her Alpha’s command, and certainly not to her Alpha’s pregnant mate.  She rushed at Stiles, pushing him into the house and slamming the door closed.  Her arms stayed around his waist, her body fitted tightly against his back as she growled.

With the phone still to his ear, arm locked in that position from adrenaline, Stiles listened to Lydia freak out on the other end.  “Stiles!  Stiles, what happened?  Are you okay?  Answer me, damn you!”

“It was here.  The demon, Lyds.  It was here.”  Stiles can picture the long white package on his doorstep with ease, unmarked except for the postage, but still very, very dangerous.  He knew what it was and as much he liked to forget about the demon marking their children for its nefarious plan during this last month of uninterrupted bliss, that package signified the true beginning of war.

“I’m coming over.  Give the phone to a wolf right now, Stiles!  I swear if those furballs left you alone, I’m gonna—”

Erica didn’t possess the ability to argue over being a furball.  She snatched the phone from Stiles.  “Call everyone to Stiles’ place.  Derek’s almost here, I can feel him.  Yes, the Sheriff too, you dumbass.  It set its dog on the house to watch.  A big black dog that might freak out civilians if it happens to go on a killing spree of people close to Stiles.  So yes call the damn Sheriff.”

Erica tightened her hold on Stiles, guiding him into the living room and onto the couch.  “What part of _everyone_ did you not understand, Lydia!  All of them.”  Erica threw the phone onto the couch next to Stiles.  She pointed at him.  “Whatever little plan you’re devising in your head right now, you can forget it.  This is serious, Stiles.  When I’m in charge of guarding your life at the moment, you need to listen to me.”

Stiles zoned out for a moment.  His hands shook as his magic swept up and down his body.  His head swam, throbbed at the base of his skull until he had to grip the armrest.  Oh shit.  He knew exactly what was happening and he tried to make it stop.  Thinking of sunshine and rainbows and robot nurseries, anything but what had just happened.

“Stiles?”  Erica’s face appeared in front of him.  She crouched between his legs.  “Just breathe with me.  I’m sorry for yelling.”  She took his hands in hers, grimacing as the magic tested her loyalties with a sharp zing.  “It’s gonna be fine.  You can do this.”

Stiles counted his breaths, fighting the panic attack threatening to break loose.  He’d been an idiot to think the demon thing would pass, maybe the creature had moved on, and yet he diligently researched the children of Lilith in case that wasn’t the truth.  But he hadn’t found anything, no connections other than old folklore that didn’t make sense when applied to modern day situations or why the demon needed a child when it could just take over someone’s body, take over their family, have loved ones even if those people were unaware.

And it was fucking selfish of him to wish this on anyone expect for him and his family.  Furthermore, it had to stop, not just with his babies, but for everyone’s.

This thing wasn’t going to stop until he did something.  It was going to keep taking from him, amplifying his fear until he felt utterly helpless.  It had Derek on edge all the time, except for the few moments before they slept at night, where Derek focused solely on Stiles and his unborn child…no wait, _children_.  They were having twins.

Two babies for this fucker to take from them.  And they had no idea how to stop it; how to stop a demon that could dive into any of Stiles’ family members, his loved ones, and eventually kill them when they became useless.

This was real.  This was not the way a family was supposed to start.  This was not how he pictured things with Derek.

And Stiles never gave up.  He never thought beyond a week at a time because he’d never indulged himself, always caught up in pack emergencies and present day drama to plan for a future.  Always too busy helping others.  Always busy being the unsung hero.

But he wasn’t defenseless, never had been, and he couldn’t afford to be now.  Because for the first time he wasn’t just going through the motions of life, he was actually looking forward to watching his kids take their first steps, witness Derek teach them to howl at the moon, being exhausted from raising his family and then experiencing those moments all parents swore would make everything worth the trouble.

Erica was still talking to him.  He didn’t hear her, but he did squeeze her hands.  Bless her for trying to figure out his train of thought, for being there to comfort him, ground him as he fought off what would have been a terribly bad no good panic attack he couldn’t afford to have right now.  He got to his feet, power surging through the bond with his unborn children, through Derek, through his magic, the forces that be calling out to be of service.

“First good news I’ve had for him in years and the demon goes and fucks it up.”  Stiles takes a swig of his lemonade because his mouth tastes like panic and feels like cotton.  His hands still shake as he sets the bottle down.  “Erica, I need gloves.  They’re under the bathroom sink next to the first aid kit.”

“Stiles, I think you need to sit down.  Did you hear what I said about planning?”  She blocks his path to the front door.  “Normally I’d be all over a good ass kicking you cooked up, but not today.  Derek will be here any second and I am not…  Oh shit.”

Before the door slams open, Stiles feels his mate’s ire.  Hears his claws as they scrape over the front door.  Then he sees the red eyes, Derek practically primal in his Alpha form.  “Stiles,” he bellows, narrowed eyes targeting his mate.

Maybe it’s the fact Stiles almost lost his shit moments ago before he talked himself down from the ledge.  Maybe it’s because he’s been the target but never succumbed to being the victim.  Maybe it’s the bond between them or the bond his children have formed already with Derek, but Stiles actually feels safe when Derek charges across the living room and carefully retracts his claws before he hugs Stiles close.

Derek’s touch does a number of things to Stiles now that they’ve gotten over their shit and are trying to make this work.  Derek elicits excitement in Stiles’ veins when he’s aroused.  His fingers, when Stiles is down, know exactly the right place to trace across his skin, map every point of comfort Stiles didn’t know he had. 

Derek’s touch says more than Derek does, and that’s okay, that’s how he is and Stiles knows it’s his thing.  But sometimes Derek goes straight for Stiles’ metaphorical jugular with a hug that wraps him up like he’s something special, something that makes all the hell they go through worth it.  Some would call it hug, but Stiles calls it home.

And so he breathes his mate in, the twins wanting their father’s true scent as much as Stiles.  He relishes those thick arms around him and gives as good as he gets because as much as he needs the reassurance of safety and pack, so does Derek.

Losing his family is not something Derek can relive.

Stiles will do anything to prevent that—he’ll choke on the flaring instinct to throw down a choppy, terrible plan to lull Derek into a moment of false security.  While the threat is gone for now, it’s not gone for good, but for a second he can give Derek this.

Stiles nuzzles his face in Derek’s neck. “You saw the box?”

Derek pulls back, thumbing Stiles’ jaw while searching his face.  “Saw it.  Smelled it.  Felt you panic.”

“You didn’t…”

“No.  I didn’t touch it.”

Stiles nods.  “Sorry.”

“For _what_?”  Derek’s incredulous eyebrows scrunch as his face returns to human.

“That we can’t just get a breather.”  Stiles shrugs.  “I’m actually really pissed right now, but more than that I’m overwhelmed and having a hard time choosing one emotion.”

“You have every right to be angry.  But don’t apologize for this, Stiles.  This isn’t your fault.”  Derek’s trying to strike understanding into Stiles with his eyes, but Stiles can see the disappointment there, the sliver of fear for his family drowning out the happy moment they were supposed to be sharing right now.  He’d made food and everything.  Changed the sheets because maybe they’d want to skip dinner altogether.

Not now.  Probably not today at all.

Stiles shakes his head.  “I’m fine.  Not a scratch on me, okay?”

Erica shuffles closer.  “But we did find something.”

Just like that Derek is all Alpha again.  “Tell me.”

“Back on Clyde’s land, Stiles told you he saw dogs, big black dogs.  We thought it was part of the spell, maybe a hallucination, but Derek…”

“You saw them too,” Derek finishes.  “Where is Scott?”

“Went after it.  I stayed with Stiles.”

“Good.”  Derek stares at the slider door and Stiles knows he’d focused on Scott, where he is, what state he’s in.  “He’s headed back to the house.  Did you everyone in?”

“Lydia’s working on it. I told her to bring in the outsiders too.  I hope that’s… I just figured we’d need… I’m sorry for going over your head without your permission. I know the other pack will see it as a weakness for your beta to take charge.  I’m really sorry, Derek.”  She ducks her head and waits for an argument. 

For one, Stiles has never seen Erica so submissive to Derek—Isaac maybe, but not Erica.  Not so quickly and without a huge fight at least.  And two, Stiles has never witnessed Derek acknowledge Erica’s submission, a pseudo aggressive fondness overtaking his face as he fights the urge to maim and kill the threat still out there.

Stiles watches in shock as Derek soothes a hand over her head.  “Erica, you controlled the urge to run after Scott because you knew Stiles was more important and Scott could handle it alone.  You protected my mate the best you knew how and I’m grateful.  I’m…”  Derek pulls his hand back and scratches at his neck nervously.  “I’m proud of you.”

Stiles is pulled from of the severity of what’s happening outside his front door to smile at Derek.  It took years for the Alpha to even trust in the pack he’d formed to replace those he’d lost in the fire.  And replaced wasn’t even a good word, more like he rebuilt his ties to Beacon Hills, gained his followers through acts of bravery and silent stoicism.  He’d become the Alpha he didn’t think he would ever be, and yet here they were, seven years later, and Derek had found that grace within himself to reward his pack for a job well done.

It was a humble gesture that spoke volumes about the person Derek Hale had become.  And as Erica lifted her head, eyes searching Derek’s face as if she didn’t believe it to be true, Derek just stared back. 

He opened himself to her like he had all those years ago, a lonely Alpha desperate for family, offering a girl who could barely hang onto life, a girl who had hardly went a day without suffering a get out of jail free card so they could learn the path to pack together.

And for all of Erica’s rough and tough, cherry lipstick wearing bravado, it was moments like these that reminded Stiles of the shy, unsure girl Erica used to be, of who she still was in some ways.  Erica was like all of them, just another person who didn’t belong anywhere else but within this pack.  They didn’t make sense without each other.

Sometimes it was nice to see that in black and white instead of just assuming, now that they’d all grown up.

Erica’s lips twitched.  She offered Derek a small smile, when really her eyes were gleaming with pride, with confidence.  She had done the right thing.  Her Alpha trusted her and the pack dynamic had balanced again.  Even human, Stiles could totally understand the thrill in being complimented by Derek Hale.

“So, uh, how about those gloves?”

And that was all it took for Erica to come back to herself, scowling at Stiles.  “ _Seriously_?”

“Seriously.  Gloves.  Then pull out the folding chairs in the garage.  Pretty sure we’re about to have more company than a sectional will fit.”

Derek joins Erica in scowling.  See?  They learn from the best.  “If you’re getting gloves to touch that box, Stiles…”

“The point of getting gloves is so we _don’t_ actually touch the box, Derek.”  Stiles puts his hands up as Derek’s shoulders hunch and that menacing baddy expression he’s got down pat sharpens his pretty features.  “Look, you can put on a pair and hold my hand while I do it, but the fact is we are opening that box.  And I am going to send that demon a message, because I might be the pregnant mate here, Der, but I am not going to step aside and act like a damsel in distress when I am well within my rights and safety parameters to do so .  It isn’t me.  It’s not going to happen, so you can hang it up already.  I’m offering to do this with you, because I want to do this together, but if you’ve been reading as much as I have on the subject of human’s carrying pups, then you’ll know how aggressive even we can be when our children are threatened.  And I mean _aggressive_.”

“First, what have you been reading?  And secondly, how does this not put you in danger?  We had an agreement.”

Stiles rolls his eyes as he turns away. “I’m sure you’re aware of how much I’ve been reading these last few weeks, and you can thank Baicha for all the baby literature.  But I thought it’d be a good idea to have something accumulative, something I’d understand better when it was all put together like a baby bestiary.”  Stiles picks up a blue binder from the coffee table and drops it into Derek’s hands.  “I wanted to call it How To Train Your Furry Baby Daddy but we settled on Pups for Dummies.  Right, Erica?”

She sighs and shakes her head, focused on her nails like she didn’t just paint them this morning.  He sort of can’t blame her for staying out of it because Derek doesn’t look too sure about the book he’s holding, and Erica had totally gotten her very own seal of approval minutes ago.  So yeah, he totally doesn’t blame her at all.  That’s not to say he isn’t bummed by his loss of backup.

Derek looks through the binder, similar to the one he made Stiles and Stiles grins because he knows Derek’s only doing so to waste time like Stiles will forget about the box on the porch.  Derek slowly flips through the sections.  “BD is experiencing bouts of insomnia this week.  I think he’s tied to my sleeping cycle and is affected when I’m restless.  BD has started to smell the baby more, differentiating my scent from the pup’s, so I’m pretty sure they can bond with each other now.  It’s really cute.  My favorite part of the day.  BD is more affectionate than ever before.  If I was a wolf I’m pretty sure I’d do the wolfy version of purring because it feels good.  It also settles my stomach.  Haven’t puked in three days and he’s slept with his hand on my stomach since Wednesday.”

“Gross,” Erica coughs as she comes back into the living room.

Derek lifts his brow at her before he sets his sights on Stiles.  “Are you journaling your pregnancy?”

“Yeah, baby daddy, I am.  Because I intend to get to the end of it, and have my kids safe and healthy for a very long time, and to make sure that information gets to other expecting mixed species couples.  So if you’d not fight me on this and put on some gloves please, that’d be great.”  When Derek says nothing, Stiles rolls his eyes.  “You think I’d forget about our problem out there?  Yeah.  Fat chance.”

Derek closes the binder.  He sighs.  “Fine.”  He takes a pair from Erica and struggles to pull the latex over his hands.  As they’re walking to the door, Derek looks over at Stiles.  “You didn’t think I was affectionate enough before?”

“Derek, my darling dearest, I say this with the utmost love in my heart.”  Stiles licked his lips, trying to bite back a grin. “You were so far from affection you’d need a passport and government clearance to get there.  But that’s okay, Sourwolf, I like it when you’re bossy.  But now you’re affectionate—it brings me joy like double star days on my Starbucks card.”  Stiles kisses the corner of Derek’s mouth and Derek grumbles but doesn’t protest his usually hated pet name.  In fact, he hasn’t once snapped at Stiles for all the creative daddy lingo he’s thrown at Derek for weeks.

Stiles considers it another victory.  There have been a lot of those lately.

“Stop.  Please.  I’m gonna hurl.  It’s like watching my parents.”  Erica makes a gagging nose and opens the front door.

Stiles stops smiling when he lays eyes on the voodoo box sticking out like a sore thumb on the lawn.

The box is still there, waiting in the grass where Stiles’ magic had flung it away.  And new on the scene is Scott with his back to the quiet street so the neighbors can’t see his glowing eyes and nearly shifted face—it’s a near miracle he isn’t exploding out of his skin he looks so pissed.  He’s staring at the box.  His fists uncurl and then tighten again like he’s waiting for the thing to get up and fight him.  To Scott and most likely to his Alpha, he’s containing the threat, and the effort is valiant but he still looks ridiculously like a dog growling at a box.

“Scott,” Derek says and Scott snaps out of his trance.

Scott’s golden eyes revert back to their puppy dog brown upon command.  He stands a little taller.  He assesses the situation with a quick scan of his audience and then looks back at the box.  Stiles would say the entire exchange is very werewolf professional, formal. 

First Erica and now Scott.  When did they all grow up?  Had Stiles missed it?  Was this really all about werewolf politic semantics? 

“The trail circled around the end of the block into the woods and disappeared.  Same smoky scent and this time there was definitely a dog, but I sensed more in the area.”  Scott scratches his head.  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a man’s best friend kind of dog, but it looked like a giant, blood thirsty pit.  And you know I’m all about Pit Bull rights—come on, I’m a vet!  But seriously, Derek, that thing… Like a hellhound.”

Stiles looks at Derek and then back to Scott.  So maybe they were still the same people in certain aspects—Scott would always have that boyish edge with a heart of gold and Stiles would always be a sleuth deep down—but there were things he was glad he could do now that he couldn’t back then.  And if that’s what it meant to be an adult, then so be it.

“I see you’re gloved up, Doctor Hale.” Stiles casts a wicked glance at Derek and the Alpha literally shows his disapproval with a stern yet sexually heated glare.  “I didn’t have you put on the gloves for nothing.  Work with me here.  If that hound was the thing that dropped this gift off and made itself known, then we need to find out its connection to the demon.  Mainly, I need to find out what kind of magic I’m working with here.”

“What are you doing?”  Scott walks to the bottom step, defending Stiles from the box in the lawn.  “I’m siding with Derek on this, Stiles.  He didn’t have to say anything and I know.  Think about your kids, dude.  Speaking of, congrats, man.”  Scott claps Derek on the shoulder, something akin to pride in his eyes.  “Twins… That’s insane.  And double the children I’ll godfather.”  Then Scott scowls at Stiles.  “Which is why you are turning around and going back inside.”

“Okay, Erica Junior, let’s get something straight here…”

Stiles has his bad boy moments.  They are far and few between and almost never planned, but he still has them.  Stiles leans back and looks Scott up and down.  He gives Scott ‘the look’.  Lydia would buy him a drink and possibly dinner the look is so good.  Scott wilts under his gaze and Stiles realizes what he’s doing to Scott only after the beta is baring his throat to Stiles.  Way after.  Possibly past the point he should have, but he was too struck to stop, and okay, he was mildly enjoying himself.

“I just Alpha’d you.  I totally did.”  He eyeballs Derek.  “I can Alpha him now, because I’m your…  _Wow_.”

“They’ve always listened to you anyways, Stiles.”

“Not like that!  I’m thinking this should definitely go in the book.  Human mated to the Alpha just pulled a wolf card of his own.  I don’t know whether to be terrified or chalk this up on my chart of awesome things that rarely happen to me.”

“What book?”  Scott can finally look at Stiles again like ‘Hey, it’s cool, bro.  You didn’t just make me submit at all.’

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.  “He’s writing a journal.  For future pregnant humans mated to werewolves.  There’s a section devoted to the times of day he throws up.”

“Says the guy who ripped up my Star Wars calendar at the shop to plan my every move in a binder.”   Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Whatever, he sends text kisses, don’t let him fool you. And so not the point of this conversation,” Stiles trails off when Derek looks at him.

“Moving along.”  Derek shoots eye daggers at Stiles.  “I think we have more pressing matters than should an Alpha actually show appreciation to his mate or not.”

Stiles frowns and knocks his elbow gently into Derek.  Derek presses against him.  That’s all that Stiles needs.  He smiles to himself.  He’s totally getting more text kisses in the future.

“Okay…” Scott shrugs.  “I ran into Beth.  They’re running the perimeter to try and catch the scent again.  She said the shifter at the construction site was in the woods, sniffing around and saw the dog, or dogs I should say.  That guy Glen…”

Stiles feels his face grow serious.  Shifter and Glen weren’t two words used together in Stiles’ everyday vocabulary, so as Scott continued, Stiles knew exactly who the guy in the woods was. Glen was one of the most unforgettable people Stiles would ever meet in his lifetime.  “They wouldn’t notice him.  Glen’s one of only about a handful of born true shifters left in the world.  His magic is so pure he has no scent and the ability to become he wants.  He’s one of the deadliest Supernaturals on the planet, even to the magic world he’s undetectable unless he allows himself to be seen.”  Stiles looks up at Derek.  “I didn’t know he was in town.”

“He was on one of those sticky notes you gave me.  You know, those messages you leave me?”  Derek mutters out of the side of his mouth and tries not to look at Scott.  Like sticky notes between mates loses him man points with his beta or something.

“I never talked to Glen on the phone.  He had to have heard through the grapevine and came on his own.”  Stiles looks into the trees.  He had a feeling, just a gut instinct that the aforementioned shifter was close by.  After the weekend they’d shared together almost a year ago, when he’d talked Glen out of hurting himself and helped him find a better way, he knew Glen would be powerless to return a favor to Stiles, a favor as big as the one Stiles had done for Glen.  “Glen?”

The porch swing creaked.  The air around it wavered to the trained eye.  Glen appeared in a blink.  A thick crop of dirty blond hair, sturdy jaw and dark brown eyes were the same as Stiles remembered; he looked like a good old boy, Stiles’ mother would have called him.

Glen had his hands stuffed in his pockets as he met each one of their faces.  “I wasn’t there long.”

“Wouldn’t care if you were.”  Stiles embraced the man with a hug as he met them near the box.  Derek was growling softly.  Stiles respectfully detached from Glen and took Derek’s hand.  “It’s not even like that.”

“What is it like then?”  Derek calms down a bit.  A smidge.  He barely even has fangs.  “I’ve yet to hear his story, and I find out he’s been dangerous this whole time and he just appears out of a porch swing you don’t even have?”

Stiles already misses the swing where it never really was to begin with.  He waves Derek off.  “I helped him out once.”

“Oh really?”  Derek’s nostrils flare.  “You helped him out once?” Stiles yanks on Derek’s hand, narrowing his eyes because he doesn’t like the way Derek asks that question.

“He did.” Glen nods like that will satisfy Derek, but that only makes the growls louder.  Glen looks Derek straight in the eye.  “Stiles and I were never involved, Alpha Hale.  Strictly platonic.  He stopped me from killing myself.”

Derek’s face…  Stiles has seen shock before, but not quite like this.  “Glen, you don’t have to finish that story.”

“I’m sure you know what it’s like to be alone, Alpha.  I’m certain you know how the isolation from your kind gets to you and suddenly you find yourself at a club, hoping the noise and the scents will stop you from feeling, and that if you just go up to the roof and pull…”

Derek puts a hand to Glen’s forearm.  “You’re welcome here anytime.”

And just like that Stiles is in awe of Derek’s progress.  To think this is all in one day…  “Thanks for coming.”

Glen nods, his face never giving away anything but confident contentedness.  Then again, Glen was always like that. “Least I could do.  Need any help with this?”

“Could use some coverage to do this.  Wouldn’t want the neighbors to get an eyeful.”  Stiles smiles.

“That I can do.”  Glen clears his throat at Derek and walks across the lawn to the curb.

Derek pulls Stiles under his arm and takes a step away from Glen.  “What is he…?”

Glen looks around the neighborhood.  He cocks his head at Mrs. Chumsky’s living room window, waits for her curtains to settle back into place and then Glen breaks apart into thin air.  He regroups bit by bit, small white and silver pieces settling until a massive moving truck is parked at the curb, effectively blocking any of his neighbors’ view of Stiles’ front yard.

“Now that is badass.”  Scott whoops quietly, crouching down to check under the truck for a second in awe.

“Scott,” Derek barks.  “Stop touching Glen.”

“Don’t make me sound like Stranger Danger, Derek.”  Scott snorts.  He joins them back at the box.  “Okay, so I say we have about ten minutes before the neighbors start wondering why Stiles is moving and begin wandering over here.”

“You’re sure about this?”  Derek asks Stiles.

Stiles squeezes his mate’s hand.  “Sure that I want this bitch to know it’s not my birthday?  Yeah, Der.  I am.”

“If you start to feel funny you better stop.  I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to, Stiles, and I mean it.”

“Yes, father.”

Derek huffs, nevertheless he allows Stiles to kneel down in the grass near the box as Derek anxiously waits for a demon to come slithering out of the unwrapped parcel.  Stiles closes his eyes and calls on his magic.  It never truly stopped tingling since it first flared to life.  It did, however, answer him under his control, gathering in his hands until his palms warmed, bordering on hot.  In tendrils his magic slipped from his fingertips, searching the dark magic the box the box had come in contact with and tasting the scent of the demon in the air.

“Residual magic,” Stiles murmurs.  “Just traces of when the demon touched the box.  Whatever’s inside doesn’t have any actual power, but that may be what the demon wants us to think.”

“Neither did that necklace Seraphine gave you and look how that ended up.”  Derek’s hand is a steady presence between Stiles’ shoulder blades.

“That was a two part ritual.  The necklace only activated because she was able to slip me the other ingredients for the spell in the drink she made me.  Deaton tested my blood when I was out.  Grated oak to put down roots, rose petals for beauty, jasmine to calm the nerves and leave my inhibitions at the door, all of it masked by strawberry syrup because everyone knows I’m a sugar addict.  Only after I was buzzed could the demon’s magic enter me through the necklace, and by default you, because you were under the pull of the moon.  It was smart, but now that I know the demon follows old school black magic, I think I know what I’m looking for.”

Stiles opens his eyes.  His hands hover right over the box, protected by a visible gold veil of his own enchanted doing.  “No metal.  No wood, although it feels delicate like paper, and there’s something else.  Something soft.”  Stiles looks from Scott to Derek.  “If it’s anything woven, don’t touch it.  I may not sense a curse or a spell, but most practitioners when performing seriously high magic will weave spells thread by thread, which is another two part spell—hiding magic within an inanimate object will only work when touched by the intended person because the item was made for them.”

“Like your protective charm jewelry?”  Scott blinks.

“Exactly like that.  Braiding and weaving are personal to a magic user.  It’s a practice that’s delicate and their magic is in constant contact with the materials used.”

“Makes sense.”  Scott squeezes his knees.  His brows draw closer together and his doubtful eyes are locked on the box. 

Derek touches the back of Stiles neck. He takes a deep breath that washes over the top of Stiles’ head.  “Open it.”

Stiles flicks his wrist and the packing tape rips away from both ends.  The slender box slides out of its packaging and stops in front of Stiles.  The lid flops open to reveal soft pink fabric.  Beside him Derek goes rigid.  Stiles knows why.  He wish he didn’t.  This isn’t happening.

 “Don’t.”  Stiles tugs on Derek’s hand.  “Don’t you dare.”

Derek whines.  His jaw tenses and his eyes screw shut.  Stiles’ protective instincts kick into overdrive, and he can smell the female who last wore the hoodie as if he knew everything about her.  When truly he’d only ever seen a single picture of Laura Hale, but even then she’d been wearing this exact sweatshirt.  Derek had said it was her favorite.  Stiles knew Derek kept the sweatshirt in a storage unit at the edge of town along with other priceless Hale treasures, but he wasn’t prepared for the demon to cut his family this deep; stealing Derek’s dead family’s possessions to use as creepy gifts.

The inside of the box lid reveals pieces of notebook paper glued inside, words scribbled in slanted cursive that appeared rather feminine in penmanship.

_“I’m scared I won’t live up to Mom’s name and that Derek will grow to hate me.”_

_“I love him so much.  He’s all I have left.  He doesn’t deserve to have to stay here when I know he hates it.”_

_“The insurance money came through.  I think it’s time to go home.  Sometimes I forget what they smelled like.  God I miss that smell.”_

_“Told Derek I’m going on a weekend trip.  He’s got finals anyway.  Can’t tell him where I’m headed or he’ll freak.  I’ll have to take things slow, but it’s time to rebuild.  It’s time to take over what was always mine.  I hope he can forgive me and learn to move on.”_

_“If something happens to me, I want you to know I love you more than anything, baby bro.”_

Tears streak Stiles’ face as he reads bits and pieces of Laura’s last journal entries.  He begins to grieve for someone he never knew, yet always shared a certain kindred spirit with through Derek.  Before he ever started a relationship with Derek, it had been one of Stiles’ greatest wishes that Laura could somehow return to their lives, take up the burden Derek shouldered as Alpha and fill the void left in Derek’s heart.

He’d never told anyone that, especially not Derek. Yet here the box sat, reeking of Laura’s ghost, pulling Derek’s sorrow from his body and leaving Stiles to pick up the pieces.

Inside the box lid, scratched in black marker was written: **_I can bring her back._**

“It’s not real.”  Stiles held Derek tighter.  “It’s not fucking real, baby.  Don’t think for one second the demon can give you that.  It’s a lie.  You know it is!”

Derek reached out to touch the hoodie, entranced by Laura’s scent.  Stiles had a split second to act before Derek succumbed to the demon’s plan.  He swore fiercely under his breath, splayed his fingers and set the entire box on fire. 

Derek roared.  He pushed Stiles away, onto his back in the grass and shot to his feet, thunder in his eyes as he looked down at his mate.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers.  “I’m so sorry, Derek, but it’s not real.”

“Fuck you.”  Derek balls his hands at his sides.  “Just… _fuck_ _you_.”

Stiles’ stomach plummets because Derek means it.  Means it in the moment.  Means it from somewhere deep inside like a Freudian slip.  Doesn’t matter.  Derek had said it and he’s not taking it back.  He storms inside as the box shrivels in on itself, black ashes curling in the grass and Laura’s sweet perfume spiraling into the air to be lost in the warm afternoon.  Stiles feels his face pull tight, his bottom lip tremble and his eyes fill again.

He had to do it.  He _had_ to.

Scott picks Stiles up, gently lifting him under his shoulders and onto his feet.  Stiles’ best friend says nothing as he leads him into the house; there’s nothing to say when you’re mate has just flipped out and pushed you away like garbage.  Neither of them look behind them to see if Glen is Glen again now that the box has been eradicated and the neighbors are still in the dark. 

The demon got its way by appealing to Derek’s pain and no amount of careful planning was going to stop it now.  The gift had been received.  There was no turning back.  Derek was now vulnerable, angry at Stiles, and that was exactly what the enemy wanted.  The target had been chosen, the stakes higher than ever, and it was becoming clear that the only person who was immune to the demon was Stiles.

Because Derek… Stiles wasn’t sure what Derek would do next, but it was clear their bond would be tested.

Once Stiles was back on the couch with Scott and Erica on either side, Derek scowled at his mate and took off out the slider door.  He disappeared into the woods without looking back.

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to cry again.  They’d taken their mated relationship full circle; Stiles alone and scared, and Derek running away for the second time.  And even if this time wasn’t really Derek’s fault, he still left Stiles to clean up the mess.

His voice was scratchy and raw as he said, “Call Beth and tell her what happened.  I don’t want him running out there alone.  I don’t know what he’d say if the demon approached him.”

“Stiles…just give him some time.”

Stiles shakes his head.  “I’d trade anything to see my mother again, Scott—anything except my children.  But right now I’m not sure Derek is thinking straight.  He might…”

“He wouldn’t.”  Scott turns Stiles’ face to see his eyes.  “He’d never do that to you and you know it.”

Stiles wished he knew for sure, and while things had been good lately, there were still key pieces of their relationship missing; pieces Derek withheld because of his own insecurities and guilt.  “Scott, Derek and I mess around but we haven’t had real sex yet.  I’m mated in theory but I’m not claimed.”  Stiles pulls his collar aside to show his flawless skin, void of his Alpha’s bite to complete the bond between them as soul mates.  “These children weren’t conceived out of love, okay?  We’re not the family he lost.  We never will be and now he thinks there’s a chance he can bring Laura back.”

“He loves you, Stiles,” Erica insists.

“I know.  But sometimes love isn’t enough.”  Stiles pats Erica’s knee.  He stands up and looks down at Scott.  “Make the call.”

Scott nods.  He shakes his head.  “You’re wrong.  This is exactly what we were warned was going to happen, the demon picking off the pack one by one.  You know that’s what this is.”

“Just call Beth.”  Stiles swallows thickly as his magic starts to coat his tongue.  No doubt the twins can feel his sadness, his pain, his imminent loss.

***

Danny had dragged the white boards out of the garage upon arriving at the house.  Erica had finished setting the rest of the furniture up, even thinking as far as to put out coffee and whatever snacks they had in the pantry.  Stiles sat in a folding chair with a marker as his people began to accumulate in the living room.  He was hungry but he couldn’t eat.  And he sure as hell couldn’t drink coffee.  He just twitched in his seat, uncomfortable and sad.

“You doing okay?”  The Sheriff rubbed Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles shrugged for his Dad’s benefit.  “Doing what I can.”

“Any word yet?”

Stiles shakes his head.  “Goes straight to voicemail.  Beth’s too.  I’d know if something happened.  I’d feel it,” he reassures his Dad.

“He’ll come around.  And if he doesn’t.”  John fingers his gun holster.  “No one leaves after getting my son pregnant with twins and lives to tell the tale.”

“Not really comforting, Dad, but thanks.”  Stiles tries to smile at Dorota when their gazes meet.  She’s the picture of teenage innocence, uniquely pretty with her wide doe eyes and blushing cheeks.  Next to her is Alenka, still tiny and scowling, but every time she looks at Stiles she smiles.  It’s a new thing for him.  A thing he’s warming up to.  He could always use more family.  “Everyone here?”

The front door closes.  Cora, with her hands stuffed into her jean pockets comes shuffling into the room.  “That’s everybody,” she mutters.

Lydia rolls hers eyes.  “Don’t just stand there and act like you weren’t invited.”  She pushes a chair towards Cora, extending a Lydia style olive branch to Derek’s sister.

Cora glares, her eyebrows slanting down just like Derek’s do.  Stiles has to look away.  “Thanks for coming.  As you can see Derek isn’t here right now, and no, I don’t know when he’ll be back.”  Stiles holds his chin high.  He will not cry.  No he will not.  “So in his absence I’m taking over.”

Stiles gets up and paces a bit. The chair is too hard and his stomach is queasy. “We received a gift today from the demon.”  Stiles glances at Cora.  As much as he wants to, they don’t have time to sugarcoat things right now.  “It was Laura’s old sweatshirt with the demon’s promise to bring her back from the dead.”

Cora’s face shuts down.  She bows her head and wraps her arms around her middle.  “That’s not possible.”

“No.  It’s not,” Stiles agrees.  “There’s a timeframe for bringing a person back from death with their soul intact.  Laura’s been gone for too long to reanimate anything but a mindless corpse.”

“But Derek believed it, didn’t he?”

Stiles nods.  “He was targeted personally by the demon, a trap to separate us when we need each other the most.  I have no idea where he is right now, but I feel him within the wards I set up around town and I sent Beth to keep an eye on him if she finds him.  I can’t risk any more of our pack, if you any of you were thinking of going out there. Waiting for him is all we can do right now.”  Stiles turns back to the white board and sets his marker to the surface.

“I know you’re all busy and have jobs and lives and other stuff that’s going to make getting to the bottom of this difficult, but I have never asked any of you for anything in return, so this is me cashing in all those favors.”

“We’d do it anyway, Stiles,” Scott argues.

“You’re not in this alone,” Allison chimes in.

“Good.”  Stiles looks around the room, accepts their frantic nods when all he wants to do is run out the door and find Derek.  But Derek isn’t here right now, so he has to be the one to keep the pack together.  He just needed to be sure the others would back him up without Derek around to scowl and threaten.  “We need to start building a profile on this demon.  I have yet to determine an age, type of demon, or what country it could have possibly come from.  These are all things I need to know to find out—”

“Its name,” Herb finishes.  “Speaking a demon’s name gives you power over it, allowing the controller to destroy the demon for good.”

“Exactly.  A bit of a cliché, but yes.”  Stiles writes on the board.  “Until we have a name we need to work on securing our homes and workplaces to keep the demon away from us as potential targets.  We’ll also need to develop a cleansing method that will be used frequently to make sure none of us have been possessed.”

“You mean like you think my brother has.”  Cora lifts her head.  “That’s what you’re not saying, right?”

“It’s a possibility.”  Stiles’ hand stills over the whiteboard.  He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.  “You can be mad at me all you want, Cora, but I didn’t ask for this.  I love him and I’ll do whatever I need to so that he’s safe, but we can’t take any chances.”

“And if this thing did possess him. What then?”

“Then we cross that bridge when we come to it.”  Stiles musters some strength and writes **motive** on the board.  “The demon’s goal is to take our young once they’re born.  The running theory is because it wants a family and demons don’t possess a soul or a natural body in which to carry their own.  But none of that makes sense to me.  Yes, I might have the potential to safeguard a child because of my magic, but so do many others, a lot of females with natural means of carrying a child.  So why go after a male spark?”

“Why go after an Alpha’s daughter?”  Lydia counters.  “You’re right.  There’s something here we’re missing.”

Stiles goes to his bookshelf, in particular to retrieve a stack of references he’d been reading.  Glen helps him spread them on the coffee table until he finds the book he’d been looking for, the one with the six babies surrounding a wolf.  Herb sinks to his knees on the other side of the table.  “May I?”

Stiles nods.  Herb pushes his glasses up his nose and scans the pages.  “This is an old ritual, typically used for transference of power by dark witches, back when the lines were clearly drawn between good and evil.”  His finger makes a circle around the wolf.  “The wolf is the conduit of the spell, but this is not depicting just any wolf.  I’m sure you’re aware that powerful females are typically the ones to become Alpha in their family’s bloodline.”

Stiles flicks his eyes to Cora.  She looks away because they’re both thinking it.  “Yes,” he says carefully.

“Well female Alphas are powerful because they don’t just have a grasp on power dynamics within a pack.  They are also life bringers, carriers of the next blood, which is the purest form of magic in the world.”  He sighs.  “That also applies to dark magic, but there are different rules for a ritual like this performed with bad intentions.  Naturally, when a woman gives birth there is no need to restore the balance because it was the will of nature to bring that child into the world.  But when the birth was not meant to be, planned by a dark caster instead and implanted by magical coercion, there is a fee of sorts.”

“My children.”

“Yes.  This ritual is to impregnate the sixth daughter of the sixth Alpha, bearing the sixth child born of pure werewolf blood as a sacrifice.  See?”  Herb reads the depictions fluidly, tracing small drawings bordering the page, the circle of babies and a line of wolves running across the top of the page that form a hierarchy.

“That would make the pregnant female an unholy trinity, and her child a beacon of untapped magical potential.  In the Dark Ages witches used rituals like these to gain power by eating the child’s heart.”  Herb closes his eyes and sits back because the mere thought sets him on edge as it does the rest of the pack.  He opens his eyes.  “But if a demon performed a ritual like this, it could not take the power into itself as it would be rejected because it’s an unnatural creature to begin with.  So back to the give and take of balance, it would have to give its reward to something else, or someone else for the ritual to be complete.”

Stiles looks around the room and settles on Lydia.  She has her thinking face on.  She says, “Beth doesn’t fit the ritual.  Sure she’s next in line as Alpha, but she’s not the sixth daughter.”

“That you know of,” Alenka pipes up.  She didn’t seem particularly happy to have said it either.  “I know of Alpha Clyde and his mate.  Her midwife told stories.” She frowns.

“She lost pregnancies?”  Stiles’ heart skips a beat.

“Several.  She could not control her shift for a long while after mating.”  Alenka nodded slowly, like she wanted to reach out and wrap Stiles in a hug.  John was close enough to finish the job.  He knelt next to Stiles and put his arm around his son without saying a word.

Stiles shudders against John.  “So Beth could fit the ritual.  Now what does that have to do with me and Derek?”

“In terms of your relation to the demon, if it’s enacted a new version of the old ritual, you’re not just an emissary or a practitioner, Stiles,” Herb offers.  “You’re a spark, and unlike other magic users, you’re magic isn’t activated by years of practice or spells or potions, you were born with the ability.  As such, you are regarded as one of the most powerful users in the world—a rarity and the perfect substitute conduit in Beth’s place.”

“The demon got me pregnant to give the babies more juice for its sacrifice to some terrible evil?”  Stiles breathes in time with his dad’s fingers tapping out a rhythm on his shoulder.  It’s an old trick they learned over time.  One he’d be grateful if they never had to use again.

“Yes.  It would seem so.”  Herb puts a hand over Stiles’.  “But lucky for you we will do anything necessary to prevent that from happening.”

“Damn straight,” Erica growls.  “Give me that marker.”  She swipes it from Stiles and goes to the whiteboard.  “Now let’s talk about the dogs.  That’s got to play an important part in this.”

“Dogs?”  Lydia frowns.

“Yes, what dogs?”  Herb perks up.

“Red eyes like an Alpha, built kind of like a Pit Bull.  Vanished into thin air and left behind that smoky scent,” Glen says from his place at the coffee table.

Alenka’s eyes go wide.  “Hellhounds.”

Deaton steps away from his corner of the room, his expression grave but determined.  “Six children surround the depiction of a wolf, and while that might be a blatant depiction to the ritual’s symbolism, it could have another meaning, because in most historical references to date, there are six hounds that guard the gates to Hell.”

“That makes the most sense.  And we’ve got one of them sniffing around, a demon that needs to sacrifice a baby to something we don’t yet know, and it’s already put a wedge between Stiles and his mate to get closer to the babies.”  Herb nods, following some unforeseen reasoning of Deaton’s.

“This isn’t a child of Lilith, Stiles.  This is direct child of Lucifer’s, sent to get something for its master,” Herb says.  “Meaning Lucifer will be the recipient of the fee.”

“So we have a new motive.  We have a lead on what kind of demon it could be, pretty high up if it’s taking the master’s precious dogs for a walk to retrieve powerful babies.  We don’t have a homeland that this folklore started in because it’s not folklore.  This is religion based, and Heaven and Hell don’t exactly have GPS coordinates.”  Erica makes lists on the whiteboard while Stiles gapes.  She clucks her tongue.  “What?  I’m surrounded by cops and researchers on a daily basis.  Work with me here.”

The Sheriff sniffs to hide his chuckle.

Stiles snaps to.  “Lydia, find me everything you can on Hellhounds.  Allison, get your father in on this.  I need to know if anything like this has ever happened to the hunters’ knowledge.  Deaton, if your demonologist friend knows of any rituals pertaining to sparks, have him send them our way.  The rest of you, I hope you like to read because that’s what we’ll be doing for the rest of the night.”  He pushes the heavy books in different directions.  “Get to work.”

By the time they hit the hay, the whiteboards are packed with theories and possible leads that don’t make sense together.  There are enough empty coffee cops to open a café.  And Stiles is just plain exhausted and missing his mate something fierce.

***

Derek wakes up naked, covered in dirt and leaves, and with a magical hangover that brings last night’s events back to him in a rush.  He rolls over, his stomach empty and Stiles’ fear and guilt a sharp throb at the base of his skull.  He has no idea how he got here, but he remembers where he started.  Laura’s scent surfaced bad memories, things he never wanted to feel again.

Now that he understood what he’d done, what the demon had done to him, mourning the loss of his sister a second time was nothing compared to pain he felt when he thought of the way he’d pushed his mate away.  Stiles’ wide amber eyes, the hurt in them.  The recoil of his body like Derek was going to hit him, or already had when he’d said those awful words. 

The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t have controlled his reaction if he’d tried.  The demon had touched him somehow, toyed with him and he’d lost it.  But that was no excuse for the way he’d treated Stiles.  No excuse at all.

He got to his knees, skin scraping against ancient bark as they collided with the stump of a tree.

Of all the places he could have passed out in a rage, he found himself staring down at the Nemeton. Its power thrummed through his body, seeking his attention like it had meant for him to wind up here.

And out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw something black flash through the trees.  A glimmer of red eyes before they turned away, leaving him with the smell of acrid smoke up his nose.

Derek looked at the stump one more time, still confused, before he got up and gave chase to whatever creature was dumb enough to enter his territory without permission.  He charged through the woods, tempted to drop to his hands and knees and shift into his wolf form, but he couldn’t waste any time.

The large mutt up ahead was slowing down as if it didn’t know the area and was lost, or it was all a trick and was teasing Derek.  Whatever the reason, Derek ran like he never had before and crashed into the beast, rolling them across the ground until he had the thing pinned beneath him.

The mutt snapped at him with sharp fangs, eyes burning redder than any Alpha’s.  Pinpricks of flames danced within its irises.  Derek bared his teeth and yanked on the mutt’s ear, forcing it to bare its neck.

The mutt shuddered and squirmed until human skin bled over its silky black coat, leaving a skinny teenage girl begging Derek underneath.  “Please.  Please.  _Please_ kill me.”

Derek snarled, but he had to sit back after hearing that with his clawed hand against her throat.  “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Not much time,” she gritted through her teeth as if the shift was causing her insurmountable pain.  “Can’t stay like this for long.  Once I shift back…”  She gasped in agony.  “I can’t help.”

“Then tell me who you are,” he thundered.

“I have no name.  None of us do.”  She stilled when his claws dug into her throat.  “Master gave us no title,” she screeched.

“Who is your master?”

“A demon,” she chokes out.  “We have no choice.  Please kill us.  Please make it stop before it’s too late.”

Derek connected the dots in seconds.  His anger renewed.  “What does your master want with my children?”

“To bring her back.”  She tilts her head, seeking the direction of the Nemeton.  “It needs six.  One of us was killed before our master could bring us here.  The female emissary killed my brother before our master killed her."

_Seraphine_. That’s who she was talking about.  Derek’s entire body was fueled with rage.  He didn’t know whether to snap the girl’s neck or comfort her.  She seemed terrified.  He noticed the black hair trying to push back through her skin, the way her bones popped under his hands and the way her eyes rolled back in her head.  Her hands started to smoke and she keened in pain.  “Stay with me!  How do we stop this demon?”

“Find its name.  Perform the old ritual.  Don’t let Lilith return.”  The girl howled and started to really struggle.  Her black coat leaked over her torso and spread out over her body.  “Do it!  Kill me now!”

Something in Derek said it was wrong.  This girl had helped him, gave him the means to protect his family.  She seemed to have no control over her shift, or what she had been forced to become.  He warred with what to do, what she was and what this all meant.  But every instinct inside him said this girl was an innocent.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Her body seized up, back arching into the air, before she knocked him back with a powerful hit to his stomach and landed on all fours.  The demonic dog looked him over with calculating red eyes and then tore into the forest, leaving Derek gasping for air.

What had he done, letting the demon’s dog go?

What did he do now?

***

Stiles awoke to a tangle of limbs.  At least six hands were on his person that were not his own.  Bodies sandwiched him in from all four sides, creating a protective barrier around him.

It was his pack.  This was his bedroom.  He was safe.

He blinked his eyes open to find Cora staring at him.  She was pressed tightly against his chest, her nose mere inches from his.  Something about waking up next to Cora instead of Derek made the realization that his mate still wasn’t home harder.

She rubbed his arm, searching his eyes in a surprising display of affection.  When Cora had visited years ago, she had made it clear she didn’t like Stiles, but he guessed Derek’s absence made her heart grow fonder, or perhaps her guilt did.  Whatever the reason, Stiles knew Cora was still family, even if Derek was just starting to understand that fact again. 

He couldn’t push her away.  He found he didn’t want to either.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispers.  “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

If Derek shows up, she meant.  Which also meant Cora hadn’t been to sleep yet, choosing to take Stiles watch while the others slept.  So it would seem Cora liked Stiles.  Her protective instincts had kicked in.  Because Cora was going to be an auntie, she was family now whether the future seemed grim or not, and she’d chosen to stay.

Stiles respected and needed that right now more than he cared to admit.  With Derek still out there, Stiles had to be the strong one for the pack.  It was nice to know his packmates, including Cora now, were there to hold him up.

He couldn’t help but look at Cora and whisper, “Thanks, but I’m awake now.”

“Of course you are.”

“And I kind of have to pee.”

Scott shifted at his back.  “Don’t pee on me, dude,” he grumbles.

Cora smiles, a genuine one.  “Still wetting the bed, Stilinski?”

“And here I was thinking you were going to play nice,” Stiles whispers back.

“Shut up and go pee, Stiles,” Isaac mutters from somewhere to his right.

“Not in the bed,” Boyd adds.

“Will you all just shut the hell up?  Trying to sleep here,” Erica grouses near Stiles’ head.

Stiles snorts and wiggles his way to sitting.  The pack makes room, still half asleep but shifting like a wave as he escapes the bed.  Stiles takes his time getting ready in the bathroom because there’s no use in slinking back into the warm pile in his bed.  And he’s got things to do today.

Not just demon research related things either.  Today is the day he does his bills. There’s a heaping pile of laundry with his name written all over it.  He’s got food to prepare because he’s got a house full and that’s just unhospitable to the people doing him a service if he starves them to death.  He has to cancel a few private client appointments for next week, because well, his life is a little crazy at the moment and it’s not like the store is suffering regular business with the pack taking turns keeping it open.

But yeah, he’s got things to do.

He walks into the living room to find Betty pouring Glen a cup of coffee in the kitchen.  They’re already decked out in jeans and work boots for the day and Stiles can’t help but think of the house he and Derek are supposed to live in.  If that ever happens.  Because right now he’s worried sick and life is unfair.

“Morning,” Glen grunts and accepts his coffee.

Betty smiles at Stiles.  She puts a small potted plant on the breakfast bar and continues into the living room with another cup in hand.  “I got you lavender.  Promotes tranquility, but you probably already knew that.”  She breezes by like the gift is nothing; just a little something because it’s who Betty is.  And the scent is nice, relaxing, or as relaxing as Stiles can find something these days.  Because he’s a pregnant dude being stalked by a baby eating demon and his mate isn’t here anymore.  So yeah, he’ll take Betty’s small bit of kindness and play along like this is any other morning.

Stiles notices Danny sitting cross legged on the couch.  He thanks Betty for the coffee, takes a drink, and then goes back to his laptop.  “Morning, sunshine.”

“Hey, Danny.”  Stiles sits down next to him.  Betty brings him decaffeinated tea.  He really misses coffee now that he can’t have it.  “Why are you guys up so early?  And what are you doing?”

“They’re headed to the house.  The new countertops and tile are going in today.  We made Herb go on ahead, because seriously that guy has way too much energy this early.”  Danny chuckles.  “As for me, I’m researching demon repellent.  I hope that’s okay.”

Stiles thought it was sweet.  Danny always tried to use his computer skills to put Stiles to shame when they researched.  Right now it was just Danny doing his best to help.  Stiles appreciated it a lot.  “Got anything I haven’t read yet?”

“Well, from everything I’ve seen here it looks like we’re going to need a priest.”

Stiles shakes his head with a smile.  “One more person boards this crazy train and we’ve got ourselves a reality show.”

Danny grins.  “Yeah, but we’re gonna need someone who devotes themselves to the religion demons are tied to so that we can do this correctly.  Magic is all about belief, right?”

“Aw, you do listen to me.”  Stiles ruffles Danny’s hair.

Danny swats his hand away.  “Only when necessary,” he says, but he’s smiling.  “According to this, we’re also gonna need our priest to bless a hell of a lot of salt.”

“Wards against evil.”  Stiles nods.  “Sounds plausible.  Let me know when you find me a priest willing to overlook of all of this.”  He makes a sweeping gesture to encompass his life and how crazy it is.

“Shut up and drink your tea.”  Danny elbows him gently.  “Let me work.”

Stiles is just about to elbow him back when he notices Glen standing up slowly.  He prowls across the living room, leaning his upper body in the direction of the slider door.  “Get the vial.”

“What is it?”  With Danny’s help, Stiles eases up from the couch.  His stomach tingles like the twins have woken up and can sense something coming.  But when Stiles reaches out with his magic, he latches onto Derek’s presence.

Betty pushes a vial of liquid Deaton had made up last night into his hands.  If Derek was still who he said he was, he would have no problem drinking the contents of the vial.  It would reveal a creature’s true identity, stripping them to the core.  If Derek was possessed by the demon now, they’d know by his refusal to drink the tincture or by the unmasked demon standing before them.

“Stiles, stay where you are.”  Scott came padding out of the hallway, followed by the others.  “Let me have that.”  He reached out for the vial.  “If he’s been taken over you aren’t getting anywhere near him.”

As if to agree with Scott, Danny pushed Stiles behind him when a figure appeared on the other side of the slider door.  Derek’s eyes glowed their Alpha red.   He looked the same except that he was naked and covered in dirt.

The slider door opened against Stiles’ protective wards he’d set last night.  Although they wouldn’t exactly repel a demon, they’d repel most forms of ill intent, and that gave him hope as Derek walked into the living room a few feet.  “It’s me,” he says, voice like gravel.

All Stiles wants to do is run to him, like some damsel in distress Hollywood cliché, and fling himself at Derek.  His mate, or whoever Derek is now, looks as if he wants to do the same.  His fingers itch at his sides.  His eyes trained on Stiles with such remorse Stiles fights hard not to cry out.

“Excuse us if we’re not going to take you at face value, Derek.”  Scott’s eyes burn gold.  He holds up the vial.  “If you are who you say you are, then you’ll have no problem drinking this.”

Derek snatches the vial away.  Without taking his eyes off of Stiles, he pops the cork and downs the entire thing.  He doesn’t care what’s in it.  His focus is trained on Stiles.

After a few minutes of anticipation, the potion sparks to life, a fuzzy air around Derek that forces him to shift.  Fur erupts from his arms and legs, over his jaw.  His facial features contort and his fangs drop.

Not a trace of Derek is demon.

Stiles pushes Danny aside and slowly walks to Derek.  Scott growls, stopping him from getting too close.  Although Derek is still their Alpha, he’s messed up.  The pack will be leery of the way he hurt Stiles.

“Everyone out,” Stiles whispers.

Scott backs away, but he doesn’t go far.  The others take up points farther into the room and down the hall, as if to say they aren’t really sure Stiles with Derek is a good idea.

“Stiles,” Derek finally says once they get a speck of privacy.

“Shut up.”  Stiles holds up a hand.  “I asked one thing of you.  One fucking thing and you can’t listen to me.”  He hugs himself.  “I want to hurt you and hug you at the same time because you…”

“ _I’m_ _sorry_.”

“Are you?”  Stiles takes a step back.  “Do you even know what you did?”

“I left.”

“Fucking right you left me here alone!”  Stiles scowls.  “Is that what you want?  Is that why it was so easy for the demon to play off your need to have her back?  Am I enough for you, are we as your pack?  Do you even want these kids, Derek?  Because it’ll be hard, but I’ll do it without you.  I just need to know right fucking now if I am what you want.”

Derek falls to his knees in front of Stiles.  He looks up with heartbreak in his eyes.  “You are my everything.”

Stiles takes Derek’s face in his hands.  “Then why don’t you trust me?  Why won’t you claim me?  Why when things get rough do you run away?”

“Because I’m scared,” Derek admits and he knows the entire house heard him.  The great Derek Hale admitting how human his fear can be is a once in a lifetime occurrence.  He trusts them without a doubt.

“If you’re scared, Derek, I’m terrified.  I’m fucking pregnant.  Do you know how weird that is?  Pregnant by a guy I thought would never be interested in me, but somehow is.  And now a demon, a _demon_ , Derek, is going to take away something I thought I’d never have.  And then you leave me here to deal without you.  Twice.”  Stiles stares down at Derek, his heart heavy but sure.  “I will love you like no one else has until the day I die, Derek, but if you ever leave me again through anything other than death, I will _not_ forgive you.”

Derek nods, putting his face to Stiles’ stomach.  He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and clings to him.  Stiles can feel Scott behind him, waiting to see if Derek is a threat, but as the minutes pass and Derek just holds him, Scott backs off.

“Laura is gone, Derek.  She’s not coming back.  She was someone you loved dearly and that _sucks_.”  Stiles fights his way to his knees, using Derek for support.  He puts his arms around Derek’s neck.  “I know how much it hurts to want someone to come back, miss their voice, their smell.  I’d give up a lot to see my mom again, but not if it meant hurting someone else in the process.”

Stiles presses their foreheads together.  “That’s how powerful this demon is.  They gave you hope where there was none, and you’re stronger than that, Derek.  You’re a survivor of the shittiest kinds of things, just like me, and we can’t give in because we’ve come too far to do that.  So I need you to step up and get your head in the game.  This is our life, Der.  That demon wants to take it all away.”

“Won’t let it,” Derek growls, rubbing their cheeks together.  “I know how to stop it.”

Stiles pulls back, keeping Derek’s face in his hands.  “You what?”

“When I woke up in the woods, one of those dogs was watching me.  I cornered it and it shifted.”  Derek hugs Stiles tighter.  The pack slowly comes out of their hiding places to surround the two of them.  “Part of those beasts are human, she wanted me to kill her before she shifted back.  I don’t think the mutts are under the demon’s control when they get the strength to shift to human.  It’s like they’re fighting the demon’s hold over them.”

“They’re Hellhounds,” Scott says.  “The demon is their temporary master.”

“That’s what the girl said,” Derek confirms.  “Their master was making them do this and that she needed to be stopped before it was too late.”

Derek went on to tell his pack the rest of his encounter with the Hellhound and suddenly things were making a lot more sense, and the implications of this demon finishing the job were even more terrifying.

The demon had been set free to release Lilith from her prison.  And if Lilith took form again, the earth would be obliterated in her rage.  But that still left the matter of the hounds and their role in this.  From what Stiles had read last night, real Hellhounds were mindless minions for Lucifer, guard dogs that had no humanity at all.  So what was a hound doing shifting into a human?

Stiles had to find out.

***

Since Derek had come home, things were tense between him and Stiles.  His mate let him touch him, but anything beyond necessary seemed unwelcome.  And although Derek slept next to Stiles that night, the pack had climbed into bed with them like Stiles wasn’t comfortable being alone with Derek.

Derek didn’t sense any major unease from Stiles, but it was there whether it had a taste or a smell to it or not.  In the way that Stiles rolled over in the middle of the night, away from Derek even in his sleep.  The way they barely kissed since his return.  The way Stiles buried himself in work instead of letting Derek take care of him.

He noticed other things too, like the house site continuing on without him.  Scott telling him not to leave Stiles’ side or else.  He saw the way the pack took care of everything around him—Stiles’ bills, all the laundry, phone calls, shop business.  And that left Stiles and Derek with little to do except for research and tiptoe around the massive elephant in the room.

But by the next day, Derek couldn’t take it anymore.  If he wanted this to work for real, then he had to get his shit together and be the mate Stiles needed.  He needed to be the Alpha.  He needed to live in the here and now, protect his family, and earn Stiles’ trust back the right way.

Stiles had taken a break from the books to do some yoga with Isaac in the backyard.  And as much as Stiles’ bending and stretching in peculiar ways got Derek excited, he had things to do of his own.  He made sure the bedroom was clean and the sheets changed, the thin summer blanket spread out just the way Stiles liked it.  He wiped down the bathroom a bit and started some warm water in the tub, making sure to sprinkle in some of Alenka’s bath salts for Stiles’ achy muscles.

He could do this for Stiles, something nice for no reason other than to grovel.

Once the room was pleasantly basked in the scent of jasmine and eucalyptus, Derek tested the water and turned off the tap.  He heard Stiles and Isaac coming into the kitchen, the warm air of the afternoon wafting down the hall and two kicked up heartbeats winding down from an hour of slow cardio.

He padded into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of low slung jeans that showed off the jut of his well-defined hips.  Derek knew what he was doing, and if the way Isaac’s eyes brows shot up before he waved goodbye to Stiles was anything to go on, then Derek could easily persuade his mate into some much needed alone time.

Stiles was drinking some kind of smoothie, citrus and strawberry, and he licked his lips.  He eyed Derek up and down.  “May I help you?”

“We’re taking a bath,” he informs Stiles.  He loves the way Stiles lips curl into a smile.

“We are, huh?”

Derek nods.  He takes the smoothie from Stiles and sets it on the bar.  “Yes.”

“Any special occasion I should know about?”  Stiles stands up and smirks.  Derek smells the hesitance under Stiles’ attempt at being flirty.

Derek kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth.  He makes sure his want for his mate shows in his eyes as he pulls back.  “Does there need to be?”

“Smooth.”  Stiles’ finger ghosts down Derek’s arm as he walks by.  “I’ll take the bait.  Don’t think I didn’t notice those jeans.”

Derek puffs up proudly.  He trails after Stiles, sniffing out his mate’s arousal by the time they reach the bathroom.  He hears Stiles excitement.  “You really did draw a bath.  With salts and everything.  Holy shit!”

Derek admires his handiwork from the bathroom door.  Stiles had wanted something big due to dirty werewolves and lots of them, but Derek had surprised Stiles with the tub when his mate first moved in.  A deep inverted pedestal tub stood free of the wall and steamed up the room.  Stiles was already taking his shift off because he loved that fucking tub and the idea of a bath for two got him even more amped up.

“I ordered this exact tub for the new house.  I know how much you like it.”

Stiles paused, his thumbs hooked into his boxers.  He glances at Derek over his shoulder.  His eyes are still filled with nervous energy.  “I do.”  He pushes his boxers down.  His bare ass revealed for Derek to see.  “Very much.”

Derek flicks his thumb down to open the button of his jeans.  He pulls down the zipper.  “Good, but I want to get in first.”

“Oh?”  Stiles peruses Derek’s body as he tugs down his jeans.  No underwear.  He can smell how much Stiles likes that.

“Yeah.”  He steps forward.  Naked, he climbs into the bath and sits down at the back, porcelain cupping his broad shoulders.  He extends a hand to Stiles.  “Slowly.”

Stiles comes easily.  He keeps his hand in Derek’s, gripping his fingers as he steps into the bath, between Derek’s open legs and sits down, back against Derek’s chest.  Derek sighs with his entire body, spreading his hands over Stiles’ chest to drag him closer.

“First text kisses and now special baths?  I could get used to this.”

Derek nuzzles Stiles’ neck.  “You should.”  He kisses soft skin, mouthing across to his shoulder.  “You deserve it.”

“So do you,” Stiles whispers.  He arches against Derek, the Alpha’s hand moving lower and lower.  “Tell me what you need, Derek.  Help me make this better.”

Derek moves his hips.  The water sloshes a little, but neither of them care.  Derek licks at Stiles’ neck, tastes his pulse.  He knows what Stiles means, and Derek wants to so bad, but he’s scared of doing it wrong, of hurting Stiles.

His hands go to the small bump of Stiles’ belly.  Stiles shivers.  “Derek, I need this to work. So whatever you’re hung up on, tell me and we’ll work it out.”

“I’m trying not to be hung up on anything.  You think I don’t want to claim you?  Well you’re wrong about that.”  Derek holds Stiles’ hips as he slowly thrusts up behind him, his hard cock sliding over the cleft of Stiles’ ass. “I want to, every night that you’re next to me, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles takes his time turning around.  He straddles Derek’s lap and holds on to the edge of the tub.  “I’ve been shot. I’ve been stabbed. I’ve been clawed and bitten.  There is nothing I want more than for my mate to mark me.  Because all of that pain meant nothing if I can’t have the last of you.”

Derek surges up and kisses Stiles.  Their naked skin slides together, hands exploring and Stiles sucking on his tongue.  Water spills onto the floor, splashing all around them.  Derek rubs himself against his mate, rutting between his legs before he lifts Stiles out of the water.

“Derek!”  Stiles clings to him.  The floor is a mess, worse still as Derek walks back into the bedroom and carefully drops his soaking wet mate onto the sheets.

He crawls up the bed and on top of Stiles.  “We’ll take a bath tomorrow.”

“It was the thought that counted,” Stiles breathes.  He yanks Derek back down so they can kiss, deeper and messier than the last one.  Stiles inhales deeply through his nose before Derek lets him go.  He kisses down Stiles’ jaw, soothes his hand over his neck before he licks the skin there too.

“You’re it for me, Stiles,” he breathes.  “I want this too.”

“Take it.”  Stiles reaches up to the windowsill and hands Derek the lube.  “I’m in.”

Derek smiles.  He dives back in for another kiss while flicking the bottle open.  He drizzles lube onto his fingers and plays them down Stiles’ body until he reaches Stiles’ ass.  “Relax for me.”

“Oh my god, we are not having this talk.  I’m not a virgin anymore, and even before that… I’m an adult with no sex life, Derek, I had to get creative somehow.”  Stiles grins.  He bites his bottom lip before releasing it.  “Remind me to introduce you to the bottom dresser drawer one night.”

Derek’s pupils dilate like the color had just exploded across his eyes.  Stiles touching himself, thinking of Derek, putting toys in his ass to satiate his cravings for Derek’s cock… Derek growled low in his throat a noise of approval.  Stiles sighed, bringing his hands down his body for Derek’s eyes to follow.

“Touch me.”  He pushed against Derek’s finger, rolling his hips over the tip to encourage more stimulation.

Derek watched Stiles’ hand curl around his dick and squeeze.  Stiles in bed was a different person from the Stiles that Derek was used to.  This Stiles was something else.  He was bolder and unafraid to tease Derek back.  His smiles were darker, sexier, and the color of his eyes simmered deep amber like they were lit up from the inside.  He was playful.  He was more than Derek deserved, but Stiles wasn’t going to accept that reasoning, and Derek wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

He had become addicted to Stiles.

He pushed his finger into Stiles, watched the tip disappear inside.  Stiles tugged on his cock.  His head had fallen back on the mound of pillows near the headboard.  His hips lifted and he pushed, demanding more.  Derek gave him just that.  He slowly pushed all the way inside, enraptured with the way Stiles’ mouth fell open and his eyes closed, soft exhales huffing from between his lips.

Carefully, he pulled out and pushed back in.  Stiles brows drew closer together and he turned his head.  He jerked himself faster.  His sweet arousal made Derek dizzy.

Derek switched the angle of his hand as he pushed two fingers inside.  Stiles moaned then, Derek curling his fingers up as he moved.  By this time Derek had a hand around his own cock, touching himself in front of Stiles, because of Stiles, and he was hard enough to cut steel.

“I need you in me,” Stiles commands in a husky whisper.

“Just a little more.”  Derek thrusts his fingers in and out.

“I don’t want to come yet,” Stiles whines.  “Please.”

Derek shivers at his mate’s plea and he nudges Stiles’ legs farther apart with his knees.  He coats himself liberally, stroking as Stiles watches.  “Tell me what you want.  I want to hear you say it.”

Stiles groans.  He reaches up and fists his hand in a pillow.  “I want your cock inside of me.”

“Yeah?”  Derek leans over him, breathing across Stiles’ lips.  “You want this?”  He ruts against his mate, pressing his cock alongside Stiles hole as he rolls his hips.  “You want me deep inside you?”

“Fuck yes.”  Stiles bites Derek’s bottom lip, tugs on it before he licks the sting away.  Derek kisses him back, thrusting up as Stiles digs his heels into Derek’s ass.

Derek leans up.  He traces down Stiles’ thighs as he rears back to line himself up.  He pushes inside, slowly but surely, and watches Stiles’ face to know when to stop.  But Stiles wants it all.  His mate inches down the bed to seat himself fully as Derek watches in awe.  Stiles tight heat swallows him hole, clenches around his length to the point of no return.

“Okay?” Derek asks through clenched teeth.

Stiles snorts, because he’s Stiles and the guy never does anything Derek expects him to do.  “I think I’m more than okay.  You can start moving there anytime, big guy.”

Stress Derek didn’t know he had lifted from his shoulders after seeing Stiles’ brilliant grin.  This wasn’t some ceremony or formal event where there were rules and steps and a number of things Derek wouldn’t be good at anyway.  This was sex with Stiles.  With his mate.  It should be fun.  It should mean something.

Derek smiles down at Stiles.  “I’m inside you.”

“Glad to know you’re still with us.”  Stiles laughs.  His chuckle turns to a moan as Derek begins to move, thrusting shallowly with his hips until he rears back and thrusts in harder.  Stiles pushes his hips up, planting his feet on the bed.  He rocks with Derek.  The tempo building until Derek has to let go the last bit of control he has.

“I’m definitely with you,” he promises and reaches down to pull Stiles’ ass against him.  He lets the power free, coiled deep within his body, ready to spring to life.  He cants his hips, pounding into Stiles as his mate’s voice sings higher and higher.  He has the urge to breed his mate again.  To fill him up until Derek’s come is running down his legs and then some.  His eyes burn red as their skin slaps together with a delicious sound, over and over until Derek can finally focus back on Stiles’ cries of pleasure.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles is chanting.  “Just holy fuck.”  He shouts a broken laugh before he gulps it down with air.  He’s staring up at Derek, willing him closer with the hold he’ll forever have over Derek.  Derek gives in, aligning his body with Stiles’ to get a kiss.

Stiles clings to him, damp palms sliding down Derek’s spine until he can squeeze Derek’s ass with both hands, drawing him deeper inside, tighter against him.  Derek rocks into Stiles, seeks the place that will make Stiles scream.

And just as Stiles is about to come all over his hand, he bares his neck.  Derek zeroes in on the pale, slender column of skin and doesn’t even think about it.  His teeth elongate, sharp tips pressed against Stiles’ neck and he bites down.

Stiles cries out, not in pain or fear, but in rapture.  He comes on Derek’s chest, his own chest, all over his fingers.  Derek smells it, smells himself on his mate, tastes blood in his mouth and he licks the place that will leave a scar.  He leaves his mark.  He has claimed his mate.

The mere sight of Stiles with his hair mussed and his lips swollen, eyes heavy lidded and chest all sticky is enough to make Derek come, but it’s really the mark that does him in.  It’s bigger than a ring or a proposal.  It symbolizes more than love.  It makes Stiles his and him Stiles’.

To Derek is means forever.

He pulls out in time to come all over Stiles’s cock, squeezing every last drop out of himself until he’s completely marked his mate in every way.  Stiles now smells like him, like his sex, and he bends down to take a long taste of his come running down Stiles’ skin.  To taste them together on his tongue.

Stiles twitches, overly sensitive, and he lures Derek up his body with the promise of a kiss.

He collapses next to Stiles, but wastes no time in drawing him closer to his chest.  Stiles is smiling as he touches his neck and lets out a surprised hiss.

“Does it hurt?”

“In a good way.  More sensitive than anything.”

“It’s supposed to be.”  Derek leans down to kiss his neck.  Stiles shivers.  “Means I want you always.”

“I never pegged you for a flat out romantic before.”  Stiles laughs quietly.  He traces Derek’s muscles with a finger.  “I like it.”

For the first time in a long time, Derek lets his walls down.  He’s with his mate, in who he trusts implicitly.  He has no reason to run, no reason to keep it all bottled in anymore.  He loves Stiles and that’s a good thing.

“I’m a lot of things I think you’ll like,” Derek admits, hoping it doesn’t sound hokey. 

Stiles props up on an elbow, thoroughly interested in where this is going.  “Like what?”

“I like working on the house.  I’m good at it and it’s good for me.  Sort of like therapy, I think.  It’s stupid, right?”

Stiles shakes his head.  He lifts Derek’s hand and kisses his palm.  “Not stupid at all.  Tell me what else.”

“I think… I think I’ll be a good dad.  I’m scared, and that’s normal, but I think I can really do it.”

“I know you can.”  Stiles rubs circles with his thumb into Derek’s palm.  “I’m nervous too, ya know?  Two babies, Derek.  That’s a hell of a way to start.” He grins.  “I figured if I wasn’t married by thirty then I’d just a adopt one because if there was one thing I wanted to do in life it was be a father, but to get to have two with you, and actually give _birth_ to them…that’s crazy.”

“Crazy good?”

“Are you kidding me?  Of course that’s a good thing.  It’s just still a little weird, okay?  But I’m getting into it, I think.”  Stiles brings Derek’s hand to his stomach.  “Sometimes they let me hear their heartbeats.  I flipped out the first time because the noise was so loud when I heard it, but now I know it’s just them letting me in.  They do it a lot around you.  Then again, you probably already knew that.”

Derek rubs Stiles’ stomach.  He does hear their heartbeats when he concentrates past Stiles’ quick breathing, two little rhythms apart from Stiles’ own.  It’s a beautiful sound.  It’s also the reason Derek is more than ready to be done with this demon and move forward with his family.

And for a little while, because apparently Stiles loves this time with Derek, quiet moments in bed together, Derek gives Stiles a sense of normalcy.  They’ve had enough bad memories combined for any one lifetime, and Derek wants Stiles to remember this pregnancy with a smile.

Right now it’s about their family.  Nothing else.

“One is a little stronger than the other.”  Derek scoots down the bed and carefully lays his head next to Stiles’ belly, listening to the hearty thump of one of the babies, while the other was healthy yet quieter.  Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair as they both listen.

“You think we should call Deaton?”

Derek shakes his head a little.  “They would have let you know if something was wrong by now.  I’d have felt it too because you would be off, your smell mainly.”  Derek grins.  He traces the small bulge of Stiles’ stomach with his index finger, secretly happy that it’s going to keep getting bigger.  The image of Stiles with a full belly, on his hands and knees, moaning for Derek is definitely going to happen.  “I think one of them is an Alpha.  There’s an old wolves’ tale that whichever of your children kicks the hardest is the one that will rule them all.  Mom used to say Laura was destined to be a quarterback for the 49ers when she was pregnant with her.”

Stiles snickers.  “And I’m sure you were such a breeze to carry.”

“Mom said I was the easiest and the least fussy when I was born.”  Derek glances up at Stiles and smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah.  We can’t all be perfect like you.”  Stiles rolls his eyes.  “My mom just said she laughed so hard she peed her pants all the time and that she craved roast beef sandwiches from the diner every day, three times a day for a month when she was pregnant with me.”

Derek laughs harder at that.  “You make a lot of sense now.”

“What is it?  My love for hot sandwiches and my great sense of humor, or that one of our children will be a furry Olympian?  I’m okay with either, although I’m more inclined to have a kid with a love of junk food and terrible jokes.  Then again, a superstar athlete kid would be cool too.  I’d be the really loud dad in the front with an embarrassing sign with my kid’s picture on it, but they’ll just have to deal.”

Kissing his way up to Stiles’ mouth, Derek finds he loves the way Stiles keeps talking without any verbal response.  He loves the ridiculous places Stiles’ mind goes as he pictures their future children.

“And we could totally get matching dad jackets with ‘our kid is the Alpha’ on the back. Maybe form a soccer mom gang and get in on the secret carpool and get pedicures while the kids are at school.”  Stiles smiles wide as Derek settles his face against Stiles’ neck.  He can feel Derek laughing.  “And then we’d go for roast beef sandwiches all the time and never tell the other mothers our secret to staying thin is actually running from the monster of the week.  We’ll let them be jealous that you look that good like, all the freaking time and that I’ll forever look like a sixteen year old boy with this perfect skin.”

Derek snorts.  He lifts his head.  “I’m not sure I like the implication of you looking like a child while I’m naked in bed with you, but you do have nice skin.”  Derek rumbles at the grin on Stiles’ face, the sparkle in his eyes and the overall happiness wafting off of him.  “Which is something I hope our pups inherit and not your inability to grow a beard.”

“Hey!”  Stiles swats him with a laugh.  “I totally grew a beard senior year of college.”

“Oh, is that what that was?”  Derek nips at Stiles’ chin before he settles back down.

“So maybe it wasn’t lumberjack quality like yours gets, but it was a decent attempt.” Stiles pouts against Derek’s temple.

“It was alright.  I much prefer you like this, although if you find yourself needing to grow another beard just to prove me wrong…”

“And repeat the three months you called me peach fuzz?  No thanks.”  Stiles chest shakes with his chuckles.

They settle into a comfortable silence, Stiles’ hand gliding up and down Derek’s back.  Stiles breaks their quiet time with a sigh.  “What do you name a future Alpha?  And what badass name do give the other kid so they can feel just as amazing?  Because they sure as hell aren’t inheriting my name, or yours, because I can’t imagine calling our kid Junior or us being a senior.  That may work for some people, but not us.  No way.”

“I agree.”  Derek pictured his son, if they were boys, with the same name as him or Stiles and it just didn’t sit right.  “We could always name them after our families.”

“We’d never agree on a name that way and you know it.”  Stiles hums.  “Let’s start fresh.  No names they’d have to live up to.  Just them being who they are.  Oh, speaking of…”  Stiles tried to reach for his binder on the nightstand.  He gave up and flopped back down.  He pushed out his bottom lip at Derek.

Derek rolled his eyes with a smirk and gave Stiles his binder.  Stiles pulled out a white envelope with their names printed in Allison’s cursive.  “What’s that?”

“Allison saw a cool idea on this online bulletin board site last week.  You really need to sign up because I’m learning tons of things.  It’s like Google for stay at home mothers with lots of cute cat pictures and DIY cleaning products.  The sky is the limit, and they even have an app!”

He’d lost Derek after online bulletin board, which sort of defeated the purpose of a bulletin board, and seemed more complicated than it should be.  And what did a bulletin board have to do with cats and cleaning products anyway?

“Sure,” he grunts.

Stiles ignores his confusion.  “Don’t sweat it, Papa Wolf, we’ll get you your very own account tonight.  Anyway, Allison printed these offline and cut them up.  It’s supposed to be this fun little surprise for each other at the hospital.  You get to pick a name inspiration and I pick one, but we don’t tell each other the name we chose until after the babies are born.  This totally solves everything.”

Derek frowns.  “Well what if I don’t like the name you picked?”

“It’s about trust, Der.  And if anyone should be trusted not to pick a terrible name for one of our children, it is I, barer of the worst name to pronounce in the history of the world.”

Derek nods.  “That _is_ true.”

“So you wanna pick one?”  Stiles shakes the envelope at Derek.  Derek sighs but puts his hand in the envelope.  “No peeking.”

“I’m not peaking, Stiles.”  He comes away with a scrap of paper no bigger than a fortune cookie scroll.  He fists it in his hand and waits for Stiles to choose his own. 

Stiles squeals in delight after reading his.  He looks down at Derek.  “Read yours already!”

“Why?  So you can get a peek of mine?  I know you, and I think I’ll wait.”

Stiles huffs, but he’s not mad.  He pecks Derek on the mouth and rolls carefully to his side of the bed.  “Whatever.  I have to pee yet again anyway, so you can look at your top secret baby name inspiration while I’m gone.  And knock it off with that plotting face.  I don’t like it.”  Stiles points.  He’s trying not to smile.

Derek shrugs and rolls onto his stomach, purposely showing off his bare ass for Stiles.  The room flares with shameless arousal.  Stiles squeaks as he powerwalks into the bathroom and closes the door.

Derek unfurls his piece of paper and his smile sort of fades.  It’s not exactly a bad choice, but it’s one he’ll have to think about for a while.  They did agree not to name a child after a family member, and the inspiration wasn’t technically telling him to do so, but it felt pretty close and held just as much significance.

**_Your mother’s birthstone._ **

***

Stiles meets Danny at the church downtown Beacon Hills because Danny swore he had a priest willing to help them out.  What he got was Father Sanders staring at him, Danny, and Boyd like they were bat shit crazy. 

Boyd leans against the truck bed full of salt and waits because he’s the calm one.

Danny is doing his best to convince Father Sanders they aren’t pulling his leg and are not currently off their anti-psychotics.

“You want me to bless _one_ _ton_ of salt.”  Father Sanders groans.  “Boys, I know I’m not hip to the way of things with kids your age these days, but I feel like I’m gonna have to report this one to your father, Stiles, out of good conscience.”

“We’re not planning anything!  It’s not a prank.  We’re not going to hurt small animals or spoil the Sunday potluck with mass amounts of sodium.  We just…”  Stiles sighs.  “We just _need_ it.”

“The reason being?”  Father Sanders crosses his arms and tries to look like the scary old priest he was when Stiles was little.  It’s not working, not completely at least.

“Fine.”  Stiles paces, giving him time to formulate a tiny lie for the sake of the greater good.  The light bulb went off in his head, and he didn’t really want to say it, but he had to.  Derek would just have to be cool with it. “We’re rebuilding the old Hale house and there are a lot of bad memories there.  It’s hokey, okay, but we want to cleanse the house of anything negative before we move in.  And a lot of stuff online says salt will do the trick, and you’re everyone’s favorite priest, so we thought of you right off the bat.”

“You thought of me when you decided to salt the perimeter of your new home because you think it’s haunted with a lingering malevolent presence?  This isn’t some ghost hunting show, Mr. Stilinski.  This is an honest to God place of worship.”

Danny comes to the rescue with his boy next door smile.  “Father Sanders, we would never disrespect you or your church with something we didn’t truly believe in.  Stiles is just a kid with a big heart and he wants Derek Hale, the Sherriff’s future son-in-law, to have a fresh start in their new home.  It might be a strange request, but we’d greatly appreciate anything you could do to help us out.”

“That poor boy.”  The Father shakes his head.  “His family were good people and that’s a fact.”

“So you’ll do it for Derek?”  Stiles twines his fingers and pleads, not afraid to stoop to fluttering his lashes or getting on his knees to grovel. Well maybe not the knees because he woke up sore today, but he can pull off a crouch if need be. Somebody will just have to help him up.

Father Sanders heaves a sigh.  “I know I’ll live to regret this, and you had better be telling the truth about potluck Sunday, because Ms. Mabel Cooke makes the best Swedish meatballs I’ve tasted in all my life.  And if any of you ruin that, I’ll have you polishing pews for the entire winter.”

Stiles nods eagerly.  “No tainting the Swedish balls or I’ll have to reacquaint myself with the Old English.  Got it.  So you’ll do it?”

“If I must.”

Stiles, Danny, and Boyd try not to laugh as the scrawny old man climbs up the back of the truck and blesses a thousand pounds of salt in the church parking lot like he’s facing off with the devil himself.

***

With every single one of their homes and workplaces, even Allison’s classroom, salted and warded with the pack’s help, Stiles can move on to that night’s pack meeting with ease.

The problem isn’t solved by any means, they still have a lot of work to do, but at least they’re protected for now.

Derek sits next to him at the head of Chris Argent’s long dining room table.  Chris starts to pass out stapled packets of copies to the pack.  “I didn’t have a hand in any of what you’re about to look at, but a few of my contacts have been trying to solve this case for close to twenty years.  They’re willing to help in whatever way necessary as long as your pack sticks to the Code.”

“Not sure how any of this falls under the Code, but sure, Chris.  Thank your friends for the visual aids.”  Stiles opens the packet to the first page.  A black and white photo of a dog with its head cut off stares back at him.  His stomach turns and he gulps down some water.

“1995. Salt Lake City, Utah.  Group of hunters get a desperate call from an Alpha out there, at his wits end with an intruder on his territory that his pack can’t catch.  Big black dog with red eyes and it wasn’t a wolf.  But it could vanish into thin air with a short smoky scent trail before it stopped near the woods.”

“That’s the same dog the girl shifted into,” Derek confirms.

“Thought as much.  You don’t get very many cases of were-mutts.”  Chris points to the picture.  “They finally captured the dog, and one of our guys swore he saw it shift, but none of the others could confirm it.  They killed the dog, but two days later when they were set to leave, that same hunter went missing.”  He flips the page to body lying in a ditch. Stiles had to look away.  “Found his body three months later in Southern Colorado.  He’d been ripped down the middle and there was nothing left of him inside.”

“And no one thought to look into that?”  Stiles snorts.

“The only plausible explanation was a rogue witch at the time.  Witches often let their familiars, or their pets, do the scouting for them.  Theory was that the dog was her familiar.  The witch was rogue, looking to steal some territory, and she wanted revenge for her dead dog when things went didn’t work out for her.  It all added up.”

“Okay, I can see that…”

“But here’s where it gets crazy.”  Chris flips to the next page.  A happy little family of _eight_ is photographed in another black and white shot—Mom, Dad, five goofy boys, and a tiny little baby in Mom’s lap.  “The Jones’ were your average warlock and witch couple living up to ethical standards in the burbs.  My people looked into it this morning and turns out that Mr. Jones was the sixth male heir, to the sixth high warlock, having his sixth son.  Both of the Jones’ were from pureblooded families.  Their newborn son, Theodore, went missing two days after this photograph was taken.  He has never been seen again.”

“Why would anyone link this with the hound?”

“Stiles, that hunter’s body was found a mile away from the Jones’ house.  When given the scent of Theo’s blanket, the local Alpha was able to link Theo back to the scene of the hunter’s murder.”

Derek massaged his temples.  “So whoever killed the hunter took the baby?”

Chris nods.  “It would seem that way.  And it was also reported that the young man living across the street, which had just moved in six weeks prior, up and left his home with no forwarding address.  He left everything including his car. Mrs. Jones thought it was odd, but beyond putting it in her statement and in that file, it was never looked into again by ours until this morning.”

“The neighbor was the demon’s next possession and he took Theo,” Stiles summed up.

Chris nods.  “Five years later another hound turned up a few hours from the last scene.  Just humans calling it into the police, saying there’s a sketchy stray running around the woods, but our guys took the bait and did a little search of their own.  Found out the calls hadn’t been coming from a human at all, but a scared, pregnant sixteen year old female werewolf that lived with her grandmother, and granny turned out to be a well-known Alpha in that town.  The baby’s father was fae, doubling that child’s magical potential, but his parents didn’t approve, so the boy ditched the girl.  And then this dog shows up, she says.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“A week after the hunters interviewed her she went out one night to get groceries and never came home.  Her pack found her car at the edge of town.  They said she’d definitely given birth there and her scent trail indicated she’d just gotten up and walked away.  But her grandmother said she felt it when her granddaughter…”  Chris gave Derek an unreadable look, which scared Stiles a little.

He asked, “They found her body, didn’t they?”

Derek snatches Stiles packet away after seeing the revulsion on each of his pack mates’ faces.  Stiles isn’t feeling so hot.  The mental imagery is enough for him.

“She was murdered in the same fashion as the hunter.  The same as four bodies discovered over the last two decades, and Seraphine makes five.  Same thing every time.  A dog appears.  A baby goes missing.  Someone dies by being ripped down the middle and hollowed out like a Jack O’ Lantern.”  Chris puts down his packet.  The evidence of gory possibilities seems to have lost its edge for everyone involved.

“So to answer your question, Stiles, yes, the hunters have heard about this, but I’ve managed to keep them from interfering as long as you keep me updated.”  Chris walks around the table and takes a seat.  “Look, they’ve thrown together hundreds of different theories on this case, but the most popular one that makes the most sense is this: Five people are dead.  This demon’s favorite number is six.  It’s got one more to go before something bad happens, whatever its objective is.  And for every baby taken, a new hound joins the pack.  Are we seeing a pattern here?”

“The babies are somehow being turned into hounds,” Stiles whispers.  “But why does the demon need hounds at all?”

“It’s somehow connected to breaking Lilith free from her prison,” Derek says.  “The hound, when it shifted, told me that we have to perform the ritual to stop the demon from doing that.  She said it as if there was only one ritual we could do.”

Allison breaks into a grin.  “I’ve got it. We were all at Deaton’s house when this first started and Dorota mentioned a spark, a witch, and a wolf trapping Lilith in the hollow of a tree.  Stiles, Derek, and that Herb guy.  He’s a warlock, right?  Close enough.”

“Okay, but what is the actual ritual?  We can all show up to the party and stare at each other, but where’s the fun in that?”  Stiles turns his palms up.  “And Scott, I don’t mean you and Allison.”

The two of them smile at each other and if this situation didn’t make Stiles want to vomit already, Scott and Allison’s adorably glitterific kind of love did.   “We have to wait and see if Deaton’s demonologist contact can find something.  The guy promised Deaton he’d call tonight.”

Derek takes his hand under the table.  He keeps his eyes on the rest of the group as he says, “Until we hear something we need to regroup and cover new safety measures for the pack.  Our homes and workplaces have been taken care of, both in a religious respect and with modern magic.  Beth’s pack has the woods covered, but I’d feel better if I had one of ours with her.  We’re not hiding.  We’re being cautious.”

“I’ll do it.”  Jackson lifts his hand.  “I’ve got things handled at the office and I can take some vacation time.”

Derek nods his approval.  “I’ll be with Stiles and our house will be where you go if you need anything.  Any time of day, call or stop by if you have something.”

Stiles is just about to squeeze Derek’s hand when his phone vibrates on the table.  His dad’s face pops up on the screen and Stiles has a weird feeling, and it has nothing to do with being pregnant.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Stiles, is Dorota with you and Derek?”

Stiles frowns and scans the room, making sure he hadn’t zoned out and a young teenage girl was lurking in the corner.  “No?”

“Nobody has seen her since last night.  She told Baicha she was going to spend the night at your place and come back in the afternoon.  It’s close to ten pm now.  Son…”

Stiles pictured Dorota’s sweet brown eyes and quirky smile.  She was such a nice kid, and she kept Alenka company, and actually got along really well with her baicha.  So the fact that Stiles’ dad was sort of implying Dorota might have possibly been body snatched by the demon was hard to swallow.  Because it was the first thing that came to mind, and usually Stiles’ gut instinct was dead on.

“Stiles?”  Derek takes Stiles’ phone away and hugs him into his side.  “John, it’s Derek.”

Stiles hears his dad’s faint murmur and Derek’s grunts and hushed assurances.  Stiles deflates against Derek.  “It’s Dorota,” he tells the pack and Chris like he’s reporting a death in the family.  “She’s missing.  And as much as I’d like to chalk it up to tween rebellion, we all know that nothing good has happened when a young girl has been gone for over twenty-four hours.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell us this sooner?”  Isaac leans his elbows on the table.  His eyes dart back and forth between Derek and Stiles.

“Dorota lied and told Alenka and my dad that she was spending the night at our house last night.  She wasn’t due back to Dad’s until late afternoon.  As my dad pointed out, it’s now almost ten at night. He’s probably been looking for her this whole time and just didn’t want to stress me out any more.”

“Shit.”  Boyd sighs.  “That means she vanished right after we put down the salt.  If she’s possessed, and that’s what we’re all thinking right now, she couldn’t enter the Sheriff’s house and she sure as hell couldn’t step foot on Stiles’ lawn…”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”  Lydia puts her palms flat on the table.  “It’s quite possible she had an encounter with the demon, but she might end up coming home like Derek and have to shake it off. When we find her, we make her drink a vial of Deaton’s homebrew and settle things.”

“And if she has been possessed, she can’t get through the barriers around our homes or at work,” Erica tries to put a happy thought in there, but Stiles isn’t really feeling it.

“Say I’m not stuck in the house like a prisoner, which is not what’s going to happen, so don’t even think about forcing the issue,” he addresses the group as a whole.  Even Derek who puts the phone down to figure out what he’s missed.  “I’m just saying, I’m not in the house and I encounter a demon.  How do I, if I weren’t already immune, fight a demon?”

The werewolves at the table all turn to the entryway.  Stiles sees Deaton step into the dining room with what looks to be his good news face.  “You substitute what you already know, Stiles.  In this instance, trade wolfsbane for salt to slow the demon down.  It won’t be lethal of course, but it’ll back off surely.”

Deaton hands Stiles his phone.  A video chat screen is already connected and a dark haired man with a mustache is waiting on the other end.  “Stiles, this is Pierre, the colleague of mine I told you about.  I think he’s found the ritual you’re looking for.”

“Unfortunately,” Pierre adds, “I can teach you the ritual all you want, but you are going to need to wait until you are no longer pregnant to perform it.  You cannot reverse a demon’s magic until it’s banished, and you especially cannot use its own magic against it without risking your life, even as protected as you think you are.”

“Nice to meet you too, Pierre.”  Stiles sets the phone down until everyone else can see.  “You’re telling me we can’t get rid of the demon until the babies are born?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m telling you.”

“Well I don’t happen to like what you’re telling me.”  Stiles puts his face in his hands and takes a deep breath.  He drops his hands when Derek shows his worry by pulling on Stiles’ fingers. 

Derek holds his hand again and rubs his thumb into Stiles’ skin.  “So this ritual replicates the demon’s magic.”

“Yes.  The three completing the circle around the demon’s intended prison will open up a portal, much like the one the demon opened to walk among us.  So you can understand how much power that will involve from a pregnant spark, and therefore understand my concern for your unborn children.”

“Oh, I understand.”  Derek brings their hands to his lap and he tugs Stiles a few inches closer.

Stiles is definitely worried that whole house arrest thing might be on the table all of the sudden.

What the hell has his life become?

TBC


End file.
